Through the Window Panes
by DogwoodsAndBluebells
Summary: Summary: Taking a look at the Avengers through a series of one word prompts. Includes all Avengers and some supporting characters. Rated for language.
1. Chapter 1

Summary: Taking a look at the Avengers through a series of one word prompts. Rated for language.

**Disclaimer: Not mine or necessarily in chronological order.**

* * *

Through the Window Panes

* * *

**_Hot_**

Nights in Calcutta were no cooler than days in Calcutta, Natasha realized with dismay. She had never really acclimated to the warmer climes, no matter how many missions she completed near the equator. The second she set foot in the city, she'd purchased a modern version of the traditional dress, hoping it would help her keep from overheating. When Dr. Banner walked in wearing a full tweed suit, all she could think was, _how is he not _dying _in that_?

**_Son_**

The three of them quickly emptied the Quinjet of any remaining SHIELD agents, sliding seamlessly into place. Natasha made herself comfortable in the copilot's chair as Clint took the wheel without hesitation, Captain Rogers lingering behind them.

The plane was warming up as they waited for Stark to arrive when Clint's lips twitched. Warm chuckles bubbled from his chest, Natasha and the Captain staring at him with unabashed curiosity. When he finally settled himself, he turned to a rather confused Captain Rogers, a smile still playing about his face.

"Son?" he asked, one eyebrow raised sardonically as he eyed the terribly young face that was staring at him bemusedly. "Really?"

**_True_**

Loki was arrogant.

It wasn't exactly a secret, even to himself, but it was something that should have been given a bit more thought.

Clint never missed. He could calculate trajectories and wind speeds and exactly the right angle he'd need without hesitation, but it was more than that. Clint could _anticipate_, and that was why he was the best.

Loki had chosen Clint for his heart, not his aim, and that was part of his undoing. Clint had heart, but he had logic and intelligence and a passionate taste for revenge born of seeing too many sorrows in the world and, most of all, he had the ability to predict.

Loki chased Natasha, confident, sure in his chances of success, knowing that the arrow Clint was drawing back would never touch his blood. The problem was that Clint knew it too.

So he let it fly, unfailingly, and didn't flinch when Loki caught the projectile in his hand. When Loki gave him that knowingly smug look, Clint grinned as wide as he possibly could, relishing the feeling as he clicked a simple button for detonation.

Clint never missed.

**_Tired_**

It wasn't sudden.

The tired aching in his bones was so subtle that Tony barely noticed it as he rode out the biggest adrenaline high of his life. But the ache twinged as they picked their way back to the Tower, nettled when they apprehended Loki (who, despite himself, Tony kind of liked), and it grew to a throb at the back of his neck as they devoured shawarma.

The exhaustion finally, completely, caught up with him, somewhere in between the Shawarma Palace and the decimated Tower lounge. He made a halfhearted attempt to situate the others in the guest rooms, but he ended up leaving them mid-sentence to simply fall into his bed because he was too tired to do anything else.

**_Pray_**

Tony stopped and backtracked momentarily, looking through the window. Rogers was sitting at one of the tables in the break room on the helicarrier, staring dubiously at a laptop screen. Tony smirked to himself.

"Problems, Spangles?"

Rogers glanced over at him, a fleeting glare on his face, then back at the monitor. "One of the younger agents lent me their laptop and opened the internet," he replied, the twenty-first century words flowing more easily from his tongue than Tony would have guessed.

"So you've delved into the deep, dark, seedy underbelly of the 'net," Tony said, moving further into the room. "It's a dangerous place for innocents such as yourself."

This time the glare was less than fleeting and far more sardonic. "Innocence implies small girls and rainbows and chirping birds," the soldier commented wryly. "That hardly applies."

"And kittens," Tony pointed out. "Never forget the kittens."

"How could I? That seems to be all I can find."

Tony finally pulled up a chair and sat next to the Captain, snorting out a laugh when the browser tabs indicated multiple cat videos on YouTube. Rogers looked at him with something akin to desperation in his eyes.

"This can't be all this is for, right? With something like this," he gestured to the screen, "someone has to be using this for something more serious than cats."

Tony thought about yanking his chain a little more, he really did, but there was something in the soldier's tone that sounded vaguely like pleading. "No," Tony finally responded. "There's more. There's a whole wide world in there."

Taking control of the laptop, he opened CNN's website. Rogers seemed to visibly relax. "Thank God," he muttered, the words sounding almost like a prayer. "Real news."

**_Celebrate_**

"That was the single most exhausting thing I have ever done, hands down," Clint muttered tiredly, throwing himself onto the couch. Had he been less tired, Clint mused, he might have laughed at the comically defeated expressions the team wore after their first press conference together.

Bruce was looking much the worse for wear, his eyes still brown, but barely. Natasha was quietly fuming at the audacity of the press, her lips drawn. Thor was quietly confused by the proceedings, his temper running a little short from a few misplaced questions regarding his brother. Even Steve was dragging himself into the room, clearly itching to collapse.

Tony clapped his hands, bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet.

"Well," he announced, grinning around the room at his friends' various states of rest. "We made it through that without killing anyone. Let's celebrate!"

**_Fail_**

Bruce blinked in bemusement as he walked out onto the roof of the Tower.

"Am I disturbing you?" Thor turned as he spoke, his cape billowing slightly in the wind, and smiled slightly.

"No, my friend. You are welcome here." Bruce nodded, slipping beside the demi-god and stared out at the rebuilding of the city. Long minutes passed, stretching into the silence, before Thor spoke again. "May I tell you something personal?"

Bruce nodded, feeling somewhat surprised. "Of course."

Thor shifted his weight, looking down at his feet in consternation and guilt. "I feel as though I have failed my brother, Banner. He was my responsibility."

"No he wasn't," Bruce replied, a hint of firmness in his voice. Thor raised a questioning brow at the scientist. "Loki might have been adopted, and you might have been the older brother, but that doesn't mean you are responsible for his fate or actions.

"Your brother was given every opportunity: a stable home, a loving family, a place to belong," Bruce continued, his words quiet but passion-filled. Thor watched him with undisguised interest and not a small amount of hope. "He threw it away."

"You speak with certainty," Thor murmured a few minutes later, eyeing Bruce with curiosity. The scientist shrugged.

"I was Loki's polar opposite," he said quietly, staring out over the skyline. "My family was broken and my father was abusive towards my mother. I pulled myself out of that hellhole, out of that life, and did something with myself." He smiled softly at Thor. "I'll be the first one to tell you that no one controls your fate but you. So don't go thinking that you failed your brother, Thor. You had nothing to do with it."

**_Sunrise_**

The military had done nothing if not drill routine into Steve, and routine was something that he clung to in the changing, quicksilver world he found himself in. His actions never changed, no matter where they were.

The sky was dark when he woke up and set the coffeemaker, one of the few cooking methods he approved of. (Microwaves, in his opinion, just made food soggy and foul-tasting.) And then, he ran.

Stepping out of the door, Steve ran for as long and as hard as he could, until his muscles screamed and his breathing resembled the asthma attacks he could barely remember anymore. He'd stop, take a breath, and turn his feet towards home.

The coffee was always ready by the time he got back and cool enough to drink when he finished showering. Pouring himself a cup, he'd walk up to the rooftop terrace and sip at the drink while he watched the sun rise, relishing the peace of the moment.

**_Peace_**

In a mansion full of extremely opinionated individuals and hair-trigger tempers, it was useful to have someone that excelled in keeping calm.

Clint and Natasha were slow to fight with each other and relatively quick to forgive in the event that they did disagree. They never came to blows, preferring to disappear from each other's sight and retreat to their rooms.

Thor wasn't around that often, and was too amiable to be caught in a verbal sparring match with any of the others.

Steve rarely argued with anyone, utilizing his leadership abilities to approach the situation diplomatically. The exception, of course, was Tony. He and the billionaire occasionally went toe to toe, resulting in Tony locking himself in the lab for days and Steve taking off on his motorcycle to cool down.

The real issue, that created knife-cutting tension and set the whole team on edge, came when Tony and Natasha locked horns. Each was convinced that they were correct in their opinion, and each was too stubborn to back down. When the snarling and insult-slinging arguments were finished, and each had stormed in opposite direction, it fell to Bruce, designated as the peacemaker of the team, to gently intervene.

**_Argue_**

Tony liked to argue for argument's sake, Steve sometimes thought with exasperation, as the billionaire picked another fight with Natasha over something insignificant. He would poke and prod and goad until his target simply snapped and lashed back.

It was something that Steve didn't understand at first, not until he'd gotten to know Tony better. He learned to read the subtle cues of the billionaire's behaviors and expressions, and when the realization finally hit like a freight train, Steve had never wanted to time travel so badly.

What he eventually (_finally_) realized was that Tony fought for attention. It was well known that Tony was an attention hog, there was no question about that, but after hearing the stories of how Howard had treated his son made Steve realize that Tony just wanted to be seen.

And there was no better way to be seen than pissing someone off so that their sole attention was focused on him.


	2. Chapter 2

**_Floor_**

Steve had insisted that the team spar with each other, both to bond and to keep in fighting shape. He and Thor patiently taught Bruce some basic offensive and defensive moves, and sparred together when Bruce began to look a little green around the gills. The assassins wailed on each other, holding nothing back, and routinely emerged with bruises forming and blood dripping. Tony, when forced, preferred to spar with Clint. It wasn't that the archer took pity or went easy on the billionaire, but Natasha took a certain unholy pleasure in making Tony kiss the floor every chance she could.

**_Chair_**

When the Avengers gathered around a table for a meal, they left a chair free.

It began after shawarma, after Natasha finally told Clint what Loki had done to Coulson, after the funeral, when Clint's imaginary Irish heritage presented itself and he poured seven shots of whiskey instead of six.

After that, out of respect and tribute and _missing _him, when the Avengers met, there was an empty seat reserved for Phil Coulson.

**_Alter_**

"So, new designs for your uniform," Tony said, clapping his hands together. Steve sighed quietly in resignation, sitting down at the table with a cup of coffee. Clint began sneaking out of the kitchen when Tony pointed a finger at his retreating back. "You too, Legolas. Get back here."

"My uniform is fine," Clint insisted from the doorway.

"It's half ripped to shreds in the back," Tony replied flatly. "And Rogers looks like a belly dancer in his. Ergo, new uniforms." Pulling up some designs, he began to excitedly show them off. "What do you think?" he asked when he finally stopped for breath.

"Please don't be offended," Steve began. Tony narrowed his eyes in response, promising nothing. "But, I'd like to keep the design of my uniform the same, to not make any alterations to it."

"Because you're so patriotic?"

Ignoring Tony's snark, Steve glanced at Clint, knowing that he would understand. "Because Coulson had some design input with this one."

The billionaire fell silent for a moment, and when he spoke again, it was abnormally subdued. "You too, Barton?" Clint nodded silently and Tony hummed to himself. "Okay then."

**_Fast_**

Logically, Steve knew that advancements had been made in the seventy or so years he'd been in the ice, and logically, he knew that society had moved on as well, but he was shockingly unprepared for Tony Stark.

The man was chaos embodied, with quicksilver words and corkscrew thoughts and sometimes Steve just wanted to shake him, thinking that it might get the man to _slow down_ for just long enough for Steve to figure out what the hell was going on.

**_Fool_**

"Hey, Tony?"

Tony grunted an assent, his concentration focused on the delicate wiring in the boot of the Mark VII. Bruce looked up and smiled a greeting at Steve. The soldier half smiled back, looking rather hesitant.

"Um, I was just wondering about something that I saw at the Expo, back in the forties." Tony remained silent, but he waved a hand at Steve to continue. "Well, Howard had a car that worked on robitic reversion technology, and I was wondering if that was the same kind of thing as your repulsors. I thought it'd be neat if you got it to work when he couldn't."

Tony finished soldering and looked up, pulling his goggles to the top of his head as he launched into a detailed discussion of how his repulsors were sort of but not really anything like that disturbingly sad car his father had tried and failed to get running back in the olden days.

Bruce watched with slight fascination as Steve's face closed and shuttered, his blue eyes graying as Tony rambled on. When the billionaire finally paused to take a breath, he cut in.

"Thanks Tony," he interrupted, ignoring the somewhat affronted look on the billionaire's face. "You answered my question." Turning on his heel, he walked out of the lab.

It was a few hours later before Bruce could corner Steve on the patio, enjoying the last bits of sunlight left in the day. He sat quietly in the wicker chair next to the soldier, relaxing into the cushion as Steve stared at his hands.

"Going to ask?"

"Nope," Bruce replied. "I'm just going to sit here and wait until you decide what you want to tell me."

Steve remained silent for another few minutes. "I'm not stupid," he murmured, his voice thick. "I'm not. But there are some things that I just can't understand, so I go to Tony, because I know he does. It's just that Tony thinks in corkscrews and he talks like that too. So when I ask him a question, I get twelve different answers that have nothing to do with what I needed to know." He turned to face Bruce, his eyes bright. "And sometimes, it just makes me feel like a fool."

**_Slow_**

Tony liked to call Steve an old man, not because he was physically old, but because he was so mentally old. Tony himself was on the cutting edge of everything and Steve was so disgustingly stuck in a bygone era that it was baffling to the billionaire.

His brain had registered that Steve was in the mindset of a man from the nineteen forties, but, watching the soldier struggle with the entertainment system, it struck Tony that he hadn't actually processed that particular bit of information.

**_Friend_**

It had been so long, so very, very long, since Bruce had had someone that he could consider a friend. He made acquaintances when he traveled, more out of necessity and invasive action on their parts than on his, but Tony was, well, _Tony_. He poked and prodded and called Bruce his Science Bro when plastered and he treated the Other Guy like he was nothing special.

He was much like a mold culture, Bruce thought laughingly to himself, not that he'd ever say it aloud. There was nothing one day, and then a small speck of mold the next, and by the third day, the colony had covered the Petri dish and spilled out on to the benchtop, in much the same way that Tony was now an integral part of Bruce's daily life.

**_Borrow_**

Natasha, the team quickly figured out, was a bit of a kleptomaniac and it was something that she flaunted. It was nothing for her to waltz around the mansion clad in one of Bruce's old sweaters or reading through Steve's science fiction novels. Tony fiercely guarded his stash of metal band shirts, but she preferred Clint's instead. She liked to purloin Thor's Pop Tarts from his plate as he amused Bruce and Steve with stories of battles long fought and her favorite pastime was thieving from Tony's collection of violently colored socks. Clint told them that she knicked their things because it showed her that she wasn't losing her touch, and it showed them that they weren't as untouchable as they liked to think.

**_Think_**

It was getting better, their relationship, after their disastrous meeting in Germany, but Tony still took some getting used to. He was brash and smooth and quicksilver speeches that twisted Steve's thoughts when he tried to follow him. It took some time, but Steve finally figured out what made Tony so different from Howard (not that Steve was stupid enough to compare the two, but he needed some sort of a reference point and Bruce understood that, even if Tony never would).

The one thing that differed between father and son was thinking.

Howard thought about everything, every possible scenario, the smallest detail when designing the Commandos' gear. If anything, the man _over_thought, knowing that one man's, one _friend's_, survival rested in his calloused hands.

Tony, clearly, didn't think. When it came to his suit or a project for a fellow Avenger or SHIELD or the company, yes, he put thought into it. However, for general, everyday tasks, or (to Steve's dismay) a battle, Tony had the very nasty habit of simply throwing himself headfirst into things.

When he grew frustrated, Steve liked to remind himself that no matter what, Tony technically always had a plan. Even if it was merely "attack."

**_Summer_**

May had come and gone without anyone noticing and it was suddenly hot outside. Tee shirts became a wardrobe staple and even Steve had been caught wearing a pair of shorts. Clint adapted to the heat in a different manner, simply shedding his shirts and walking around topless.

It took Tony a few days to finally say something to Natasha.

"Seriously, Red," he complained, watching as Clint stumbled shirtless into the kitchen one morning. "Get your partner to put some clothes on. I'm concerned for Steve's virtue, I really am."

Natasha snorted into her coffee. "I'd learn to deal with it, if I were you," she told him. "It's just not worth the fight, trying to keep clothes on that man during the summer."


	3. Chapter 3

**_Return_**

"Tony." He groaned, rolling over and away from the sharp finger that was poking at his shoulder. The finger paused for a moment and then continued. "_Tony_."

"Wha?" Peering blearily up, he glowered at Natasha's frowning face. "What the hell do you want?"

"The dryer is broken," she told him. "Fix it."

"Later," he mumbled, swatting at her hands.

Sighing in exasperation, Natasha picked at a corner of the blanket he was curled beneath and tugged, sending him sprawling onto the floor with an undignified yelp. "Now."

Glaring outright at her, he caught sight of the clock over her shoulder. "Is that the time?" He shuffled towards the other lab. "I have to discuss something very important with Bruce and then I will fix that dryer."

He could feel Natasha's scowl burning holes in his back, but he couldn't find it in himself to care about the repercussions. Nodding tiredly at Bruce, he fell face first into Bruce's couch and immediately back to sleep.

When he woke up, hours later and far more amenable, he thanked Bruce for the use of the couch and wandered back into his lab.

Which had, apparently, been turned into a clothesline for the Moulin Rouge.

Socks decorated the hood of the roadster, pants and shirts dried across the Audi. Lacy bits of lingerie hung from every available surface in every color imaginable. And, to his utmost horror, a sheer black negligee was draped perfectly on the Mark VII suit.

Slitting his eyes at the ceiling, he pulled a pair of panties from his console and accessed the breakers for the laundry room. Flipping them back into the 'on' position, he gathered every article of clothing in the lab and headed upstairs.

Completely uncaring of the trail of unmentionables he was dropping as he walked from his lab to the second floor, Tony shouldered his way into Natasha's room. Clint looked up in surprise from where he was cleaning a gun on her bed, moving his feet from the end as Tony dumped his armload of clothes onto the coverlet.

"I'm returning these," he informed Natasha with a slight glare. "They aren't really my color. "

Heading back out the door, he turned in the doorway. "Oh, and the dryer's fixed."

**_Beggar_**

As a whole, while in New York, the team rarely left the Tower en masse. Most of the time, it was far less conspicuous to send one or two members out as envoys, but once a week, they snuck out and traced their steps from the Tower to the shawarma restaurant and back. The owners and staff would greet them happily and, for an hour or two, they were able to relax.

Every week, they had this ritual, and every week, Steve carried out his own. He would buy a bag of sandwiches from the deli on the way home. There was a homeless man that sat begging on a street corner, a few blocks away from the Tower, and as they passed, Steve would silently hand the man the bag. The homeless man would nod his thanks and Steve would simply smile in return as the group moved along. For three weeks, Tony held his tongue, until he couldn't take it any longer.

"Why do you do that?"

Steve looked up from where he was returning his change to his wallet, confused. "Do what? Still use paper money?"

Clint snorted a laugh as they neared the corner and Tony frowned. "Yes, but no, Spangles." He gestured to the plastic bag in Steve's hand. "Buy that guy food every week."

"Because," Steve said calmly, holding the bag out to the man and smiling softly. "I grew up in the Depression. I know what it's like to live hungry."

**_Pickpocket_**

Natasha let out a sympathetic noise as the kid face-planted on the street in front of her and Clint had to admit that the fall looked like it hurt. In keeping with her cover as a nurse on her honeymoon, she knelt by the injured boy and helped him up, cooing over his scraped knee. When the child leaned in to hug her, Clint stifled a grin at the brief look of panic on her face, averting his eyes just in time to catch the kid's accomplice.

By the similarity of their features, the pre-teen had to be brothers with the little one, and was certainly old enough to know better than to pickpocket. The older boy obviously hadn't been paying too much attention to the situation, because he was genuinely startled when Clint's fingers locked around his wrist.

"Oh kid," he murmured, pulling out the hand that had delved into Natasha's purse, making sure to let the boy's fingers brush the Glock she had stashed away. "This was not your best plan ever."

**_Bomb_**

Steve cocked his head to the side, his brow furrowed. "Do you guys hear that?"

Tony landed behind Thor and Natasha, lifting his faceplate. "Hear what?"

"It's rhythmic," Steve muttered. "Like the second hands on a clock."

Natasha's eyes widened. "Bomb."

Steve closed his eyes for a moment, trying to hone in on the sound. "There," he said, motioning to one of the surrounding buildings and led the team in.

The explosive wasn't difficult to find, not because it wasn't well hidden, but because it was so massive that there was no hiding it.

"JARVIS, start scanning for the best way to disarm this," Tony said, his gaze focused on the bomb. Thor glanced at him as Clint finally entered the building and sized the situation up.

"Can you not fly it to a safe area?"

Steve shook his head before Tony had the chance to speak. No one noticed Clint walking calmly up to the detonator and fiddling with the wires. "We don't know when it's going to detonate and a blast this size could kill him."

"What about Hulk?" Natasha stepped up. "He wouldn't get hurt."

"That we know of," Tony pointed out. "We're still not sure of his limitations."

"_Sir_," JARVIS interrupted. "_Agent Barton has disarmed the bomb._"

The team stared at Clint, shocked. Steve pointed at the disarmed device. "How did you do that?"

"I went undercover as a bomb tech once, in Afghanistan."Clint shrugged. "I wouldn't have lasted very long if I couldn't actually disarm bombs, would I?"

**_Disgust_**

After a mission, the Avengers split. Steve, as unspoken leader and the most adept at wading through bureaucratic red tape, stayed behind on the helicarrier and briefed Fury and Hill. Bruce generally slept off the after-effects of the Other Guy's appearance in his room at Tower or a Quinjet, if they were far from home. Thor made a brief trip to Asgard, simply to make sure that he wasn't needed and hadn't missed something while he was fighting. Natasha beelined for the nearest shower and spent a good hour under a blistering stream of water.

Clint and Tony ate.

As the others broke away and began their own after-mission rituals, Clint and Tony would pile into Clint's truck or Tony's Audi and stop at the first greasy burger joint they came across, ordering one of everything on the menu. While Steve debriefed, Bruce slept, Thor checked in, and Natasha showered, Clint and Tony would methodically devour the food heaped on their trays with a speed that would make contestants in an eating race envious.

When they were finished, they would order even more food, nearly cleaning out whatever restaurant they happened to be in, and bring it back to the rest of the team. They usually met Steve on their way in, half in uniform, half out and hand him a bag to polish off in the elevator. Bruce would stumble into the room at the scent of grilled meat, reaching for a bag of his own. Thor and Natasha would trickle in soon after, and the team would sit and eat.

Pepper generally showed up halfway through the massive, artery-clogging feast and wrinkled her nose in disgust at the amount of food the Avengers were packing away.

**_Seek_**

"Why, exactly, are we doing this again?" Tony asked the area at large, his weapon held in a loose grip at his side. Five soft _thwops _echoed and Tony's shirt was mottled with paint. He rolled his eyes, waving his gun in the air. "Congratulations, cheaters. You win."

Bruce emerged from behind a bush, smiling. "It's not cheating if you're out in the open, Tony."

"As you are?" Thor's voice rumbled from an indeterminate area as a bright blue spot appeared on Bruce's shoulder. Another _thwop _and Thor stood, looking slightly irritated at the large red splotch on his shirt. Tony's eyes glittered with amusement.

"Looks like the Widow took you out, Point Break." There was a slight scuffle to their left, red and white paintballs flying furiously across a short distance until Steve let out a quiet 'oof' and Natasha crowed triumphantly, following him to the center of the arena with a self-satisfied smirk on her face. Tony shook his head as a disheveled Steve joined them. "I thought you were taking lessons from Barton, Spangles. Looks like you need more practice."

Bruce leaned close to Natasha, a small grin on his face. "I think he's doing just fine," he murmured, gesturing to the tiny strip of white paint on Natasha's shoulder.

She glared at the pleased light in Steve's eyes. "It doesn't count," she informed him. "I still win."

The men ducked, shielding their eyes as she was suddenly framed by a brilliantly purple halo of paint. "No, you don't."

Natasha turned slowly, her eyes narrowed in fury as viscous, amethyst liquid dripped down her curls. Dropping from his perch in the tree, Clint grinned unrepentantly at her. "You deserved that," he told her with mock gravity. "You stole my bacon this morning."

"I hit you," she snarled, heedless of the paint in her hair.

"I had a decoy waiting for you and you hit that." Clint shook his head, holding up the decoy branch that was wearing his paint-stained jacket. "Missed me, darlin'."

Seething, the diminutive assassin stalked from the arena, muttering obscenities beneath her breath. Tony eyed Clint speculatively. "You hid from her?"

Clint nodded, watching Steve and Bruce follow a few paces behind Natasha.

"Remind me never to play hide and seek with you," Tony said, peeling layers of paint-soaked clothing off as he left the arena.

Clint wrinkled his nose, turning seriously to an amused Thor. "Sore loser."

**_Loud_**

Tony casually glanced up from a pile of papers as the door to his father's old office burst open to reveal Steve. He raised a brow when Steve sighed in obvious relief and leaned back out into the first floor.

"I found him," he informed the team, and turned back to Tony. "Why didn't you answer us? We've been looking for you for an hour."

Tony blinked bemusedly for a second before he realized what had happened. He motioned to the door. "Dad had the place soundproofed when he walled the office in," Tony explained, a hint of censure in his voice. "He didn't need to be reminded of what he said he was working for while he was actually working."

Pursing his lips, Steve shut the door behind him and paused rubbing at his ears. Tony frowned a question as the soldier closed his eyes, seeming to savor the moment.

"Something you care to share with the class, Spangles?"

"It's finally quiet," Steve muttered, his lips quirking into a smile.

Tony stared at him. "What are you _talking_ about?"

Steve looked somewhat abashed. "Everything hums," he murmured. "The whole house does. Everything in New York did. Quiet, low, humming." He looked at Tony. "But not in here."

Tony nodded, understand immediately. "It's the electronics," he clarified, picking himself up off the floor and stepping around the mess. "That's the humming that you hear. And it's not in the office because there isn't any tech in here, plus it's soundproofed to the tech in the rest of the house." He eyed Steve's peaceful expression, somewhat amused.

Tony took another look around the room, thinking about the mess it was going to cause when he demolished the place to open the first floor even more and how annoyed Natasha was going to be when he started carrying out his plan. Without even thinking about it, he turned to Steve.

"Do you want it?"

Steve blinked at him, confused. "Want what?"

"The room," Tony said, gesturing loosely to the enclosed space. "I'm sure as hell not going to be using it. I think it'd be good if you did."

Steve looked almost painfully hopeful. "You wouldn't mind?"

"Not a bit," Tony replied truthfully. "It'll be the Vintage Room, with all your old people stuff, like records and newspapers and hard candy. And that means," he grinned gleefully as he marched out the door. "You get to finish cleaning it."

**_Day_**

Thor watched Tony with curiosity as the billionaire shuffled upstairs from the labs, rubbing tiredly at his eyes.

"Coffee," Tony murmured, reaching helplessly for the pot. Steve turned from the stove to hand him a cup that was already poured. He slumped into place at the table, mumbling quiet answers to Steve's gentle questions, and tucking into his meal with vigor when a plate was finally ready.

When he was finished, Tony murmured, "Good night," and trudged up the stairs to his bedroom. Turning to Natasha, Thor finally asked, "Doesn't Stark know the difference between night and day?"

Natasha sipped calmly at her coffee. "Tony is nocturnal. Night and day are relative to him."

**_Touch_**

Clint was observant. It was part of his job description, so it took him about half a second to see that his brand new partner had a personal space bubble of roughly a half mile radius.

She existed in a constant state of tension no matter where they were. She was able to hide it from everyone but him, and Clint was never one to pass up a challenge, even if the challenger wasn't actually trying to dare him.

He started slowly, with small grazes of his fingers against hers when he passed her a mission brief or spare magazine for her Glock. After months of gentle touches and watching her subtly through his lashes and the corners of his eyes, she finally accepted the light contact without an accompanying tautening of her muscles.

Clint upped his game.

The touches became longer, firmer, clearly intentional, and he grinned to himself when she glared at him, aware of what he was doing. She let him play his game, despite the fact that she could kill him a thousand times over for it, and he took that as a point in his favor.

**_Wait_**

Clint, by his very nature, was a patient person and he was very good at waiting.

He waited for orders. He waited for marks. And, most of all, he waited for Natasha.

He waited to catch her. He waited for her to decide to turn. He waited for her to warm up to him. He waited for her to trust him. He waited for her to love him.

Clint knew that he was in love with his partner long before she did. For someone who could read a target like a book, she was surprisingly unaware of his feelings. He liked to think that he was just that good at hiding his emotions, but he knew she likely wasn't paying him enough attention to notice.

So he waited for her to notice him.

And when she finally did, he waited for her to reciprocate. By the time they reached Budapest, Clint was starting to get tired of waiting.

So, it seemed, was she.


	4. Chapter 4

**_Sex_**

Natasha slipped silently into the lecture room, motioning outside the door to Clint. Coulson was at the front of the room, going over the general rules and regulations at SHIELD for a new batch of incoming recruits.

"And finally," Coulson said, peering around the room. "No inter-office romance."

There were a few half-hearted murmurs of protest from the new agents, but Coulson ignored them as he focused his gaze sharply at Clint and Natasha. Moments passed before the recruits began to realize that something important was holding their instructor's attention and, one by one, they turned around to face the pair at the back.

Natasha met Coulson's stare unflinchingly, looking impassively back at him. Clint simply grinned at their handler and surveyed the recruits. One of the few girls in the room dropped her eyes immediately when his gaze lit on her. She chanced to glance back up at him and he smiled charmingly at her, winking. The girl blushed a dusty pink at his attention, and Natasha brought her elbow into Clint's side with excessive force.

Coulson sighed and rolled his eyes. "Recruits, dismissed."

The room exploded into noise as the agents packed up their things and trickled out of the room. Clint eyed the retreating girls with a charismatic grin as he held his throbbing side and followed Natasha to the front of the room. She arched an eyebrow at Coulson, folding her arms defiantly.

"Dating within the agency _is_ prohibited by SHIELD regulation, Agent Romanoff," he pointed out lightly, collecting his papers.

"Well yeah," Clint agreed, rubbing soothingly at his forming bruise. "But we never really dated, did we? We just got married."

Coulson looked at him sardonically. "Details, Agent Barton. Details."

**_Love_**

Pepper's stress reliever, besides a nice glass of wine and a good book, was baking. Clint was ecstatic to discover this fact. Tony found the whole thing amusing enough that he didn't threaten Clint, and Natasha liked to say Clint acted this way because he wasn't hugged enough as a child, but the reason didn't matter that much because nothing in the routine changed. When Pepper would gather her baking supplies, Clint would perch on a barstool to watch her bake desserts from scratch.

"I think I love you," he'd tell her seriously as she mixed up a batter or dough, the old wooden spoon scraping softly at the sides of the bowl.

"I am. I'm totally in love with you," he'd mumble through a mouthful of sugary sweetness, not even caring when she laughed at his declaration. But, when the cookies or cakes or brownies were gone and Pepper was placing the serving dishes in the sink, he'd meet her eyes.

"I think we should see other people. That guy Tony seems nice and I think he likes you."

Pepper always smiled, reassuring him with mock gravity, "I'll soldier on without you."

**_Smile_**

Natasha walked into the lounge, stopping short when she caught sight of Thor on the couch. The headphones looked terribly out of place on the demi-god's ears, despite his Midgardian attire. She watched with fascination as he sat, enthralled by whatever was playing on the tablet screen he held in his hands with a smile on his face.

Flicking her eyes towards the kitchen, she looked at Steve in question.

He smirked at her, drying his hands on a towel, and nodded at Thor. "Tony showed him Netflix, and then pulled up _Deadliest Warrior_."

**_Eat_**

"In all seriousness," Pepper said, glancing with some distaste at the mounds of crumpled hamburger wrappings that littered the table. "How do you _eat_ this much?"

"Well, Pep," Tony began, swallowing another bite of grease and deliciousness. "It's like I've always told you. Genius minds need more sustenance than others."

"Here here," Thor put in from the end of the table, holding out his drink for a toast.

Pepper rolled her eyes as the two toasted with their cups, spilling soda on the table. "You made that up years ago to justify your disgusting eating habits. There is no excuse for you."

"The change takes a lot out of me," Bruce put in sheepishly as Steve took a bite that was the equivalent of half of his cheeseburger. "That counts as an excuse, right?"

"I suppose," Pepper sighed slightly. Sharpening her gaze, she pinned it on Steve.

"Super soldier," he muttered with embarrassment. "Super charged metabolism."

Natasha shook her head at Pepper. "In comparison, I eat like a bird."

Pepper nodded. "Very true."

Folding her arms, she turned to Clint. He glanced up at her, eyes wide and deceptively innocent. Chewing slowly, he realized that the table's attention was on him and he swallowed his bite.

"Honestly," he shrugged, reaching for his drink. "I'm just a fat kid at heart."

**_Patient_**

"No, Steve, remember? When you integrate sine, it becomes negative cosine and the coefficient comes out of the parentheses and becomes the denominator."

"And then you add the constant?"

"And then you add the constant."

Tony leaned back beneath the hood of the car, frowning at the tangle of wires behind the engine and missing Steve's small smile.

Patient was not a word that many would use in describing Tony Stark. Except for Steve.

**_Negative_**

Tony snarled in frustration. Steve scooted out from beneath his bike and frowned. "What's wrong?"

"My calculations are not coming out like I'd predicted," Tony ground out, obviously irritated that he had to admit any sort of failure. Steve suppressed a grin as he stood and wandered over to Tony's desk.

"Want me to call Bruce?"

"No," came the huffing reply. "Jolly Green is working with Thor at the moment and he's not going to understand what I'm upset about anyway. This is too mathematical for his anatomical mind."

"Talk it out," Steve suggested, entirely too reasonable for Tony's ire. "It's always helped me when I have a problem I can't figure out."

Tony flicked a glare Steve's way. "You are so apple pie," he muttered, focusing on the screen. Steve stood to the side, arms crossed, and Tony sighed in exasperation. "Did you seriously mean out loud?"

Steve shrugged. "Sometimes a fresh pair of eyes helps." The billionaire rolled his eyes, but began to talk his way through the calculations to humor Steve. Steve was quiet for a moment, brow furrowed as he studied the screen. "Is your math right?"

"Get out of my lab."

Steve chuckled, apologizing. "I'm sorry, Tony. I was just asking."

Tony scowled. "For future reference, Liberty Bell, my math is always right."

"Noted." Steve wisely kept his smile from his voice. "Except for the part here," he pointed to one of the basic equations at the top of the screen. "Where you forgot the negative sign."

The billionaire paused, blinking at the screen in abject shock. Slitting his eyes, he turned around. "No one will believe you."

Steve grinned. "I wouldn't dream of telling."

**_Old_**

"Here."

Steve froze as Tony dropped an old photograph onto his sketchbook. The edges were foxed, one corner torn off, but there were no creases to mar the familiar faces that smiled up at him.

Peggy Carter was sitting on top of a writing desk, her legs crossed demurely at the ankle, leaning just enough to the side to gently brush against his arm. He himself was glancing down at her with something akin to wonder in his eyes, a slight blush on his cheeks that was barely visible with the absence of color. Bucky was standing next to him, grinning widely as he slyly eyed Peggy teasing Steve. Howard was next to Bucky, not bothering to hide his amusement at the couple in the least, looking as carefree and happy as someone could during the war. He traced a line on the picture, smiling nostalgically.

"I remember the day this was taken," he murmured softly. Tony halted his exit, standing perfectly still in the doorway. "We had just had another successful run on a HYDRA base and the Commandos were off to celebrate in the nearby town. Peggy was doing paperwork and Bucky stayed back with me to keep her company. Howard had just flown in to bring some new gear by and we were just kicking back in one of the tents. Someone came by with a camera and asked us to pose for a photograph. I'm not sure that we ever saw a copy."

He laughed lightly, finally looking up at Tony's carefully blank face. "Where did you find it?"

Tony shifted, leaning casually against the doorjamb. "I found that," he nodded at the photo. "In the desk when Natasha made me clean out Dad's old office." He looked down at his shoes, scuffing one against the carpet in a display of nerves that Steve wisely ignored. "I thought you might like to have it."

"Thanks, Tony," Steve said, smiling. "Thanks."

**_Upset_**

"Good morning, Spangles," Tony greeted the soldier, rubbing a hand tiredly through his hair. Taking in the scene at the table, he frowned. "Where's your paper?"

Steve was uncharacteristically quiet and shifted in his chair. "I haven't read it in a few days," he confessed, tracing a pattern on the table. "I got sick of seeing all those angry letters to the editor about the damage we caused in the Battle of New York."

The billionaire blinked at him for a moment. "I'm sorry, what?"

Steve sighed, finally looking up from his coffee, and Tony saw how upset he really was. "They're all so _angry_," he murmured, his eyes troubled. "It wasn't our fault. We did what we could. Why can't they accept that?"

Absently, Tony muttered platitudes to his friend and quickly excused himself as Natasha and Bruce walked into the kitchen. Narrowing his eyes as the trio began a conversation, he hurried down to his lab and called the mayor of New York.

Two days later, he walked purposefully into the kitchen and slapped a crisp copy of _The New York Times_ on the table in front of Steve. The soldier froze, staring at the paper like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming truck. "Page seven," Tony informed him, pouring himself a mug of coffee.

Steve shook his head. "No," he said. "Just, no. I don't want to know any more about how people today are ungracious and angry at everyone and everything. That's not going to help me move on."

Tony glared at him over the rim of his cup, finally rolling his eyes and flipping through the paper. Clearing his throat dramatically, he sat at the table and propped his feet on the counter. "_A letter to both the Avengers and the people of New York City,"_ he began, subtly eyeing the expressions flitting across Steve's face.

"_To the Avengers: we were in trouble. There was a force we could not hope to compete with attacking our great city, and you stepped in between us and certain destruction. You had no reason and no cause to do so. We had done nothing for you and we had not asked for your assistance, but there you were, in our time of greatest need, to save us. For that, we will never be able to repay you. Our expressions of gratitude will never be enough. The only thing that we can hope to do is to offer you our city as your home and to live out our lives in a manner that will convey some small token of our thanks_."

Steve had stilled, his hope nearly tangible in the kitchen air, and Tony felt himself bite back on a sigh of relief as the set of Steve's shoulders relaxed into something more familiar than the tense setting they had been in for the last week. He allowed himself a small grin before he continued.

"_And to those of our city whose thoughts are steeped in anger and grief. Shame on you_." Steve's face snapped up, his eyes fixed on Tony. "_You will hear the term 'collateral damage' very often in the next few months, and they will be the most poisonous words that ever grace your ears. There was nothing anyone could have done to spare a single soul. Would you have rather the Avengers left us on our own? That they had stopped, mid battle, to convene with each other and discuss the best possible methods to fight the war they found themselves in? There was no recourse, no quick fix that we, in this day and age, are so very used to. Shame on your ungratefulness. Shame on your petty anger. Shame on your selfishness at a time when we need to band together as a city, like we did after the terrorist attack of September eleventh. Shame_."

Tony finished reading and glanced up at his friend. Steve's eyes were suspiciously bright as he reached for the paper with a steady hand. Solemnly, Tony handed it over, watching with a small smile as Steve pulled the kitchen shears from the drawer and carefully cut the letter from the paper. Smoothing it down on the table, he nodded to himself. Tony stood, intent on leaving the charged atmosphere, when two words gave him pause.

"Thank you."

For a split second, Tony saw the man that his father had quietly mourned, not the soldier or the hero, but the young man that had just been trying to save his country. Tony smiled softly, genuinely. "Any time."

**_False_**

"Jason? Jason Walsh?"

Something flickered in Clint's eyes and, to Bruce's utter fascination, he seemed to become a different person before their gazes. Grinning, he stood and turned around, clapping a reedy looking man with a terrible mustache on the back.

"Eddie!" he beamed. "How you doin'?"

Eddie shrugged his shoulders. "Well, Nicole is thinking about having kids soon, so Eddie Alvarez can't complain, you catching Eddie's drift?"

Bruce nearly choked on a bite of his sandwich. Steve leaned over to pound him on the back as Clint simply laughed, shaking his head. "Yeah, Eddie, I know what you mean." Clint crossed his arms, his smile turning fond with remembrance. "How are things at the precinct? Banks make it to forty-three?"

Eddie laughed, nodding his head. "Went out and bought a ring for Dispatch that morning and proposed by lunchtime. They got married within a month and have a kid already."

Clint burst into a full bellied laugh, his grin genuine. Steve and Bruce exchanged glances with each other, eyebrows raised. Clint and Eddie continued their conversation, until Eddie glanced pointedly behind Clint.

"Oh, yeah," Clint stumbled slightly, gesturing towards the table, and held Natasha's eyes for the scarcest of seconds. "This is Bobby, Grant, and Natalie," he said, introducing Bruce, Steve and Natasha in turn.

Eddie nodded in greeting at them. He looked askance at Clint. "Beaumont's doing okay."

Clint's stance shifted ever so slightly, but enough that Bruce picked up on it, which meant that Natasha did as well. Clint dropped his gaze to his shoes, crossing his arms. "Good to hear," he mumbled. "Always was a trooper, that one."

Eddie seemed to understand and turned to the table. "Precinct hasn't been the same since this guy transferred," he told them, clapping Clint on the shoulder. Pointing a finger at Clint, he continued. "Eddie Alvarez has to head out, but you keep in touch, alright?"

"Yeah," Clint smiled. "You got it."

Waving his goodbyes as Clint slid back into the booth, Eddie Alvarez picked up his takeout order and left. Steve watched with interest as Clint slowly closed his eyes and opened them, his expression changing back to something more familiar. The soldier cocked his head in question.

Clint smiled slightly. "Coworker from an undercover mission a while back," he replied quietly. Steve nodded in acceptance, allowing Clint another few moments to close the books on Jason Walsh once again. Natasha toyed idly with the ice in her glass.

"Who's Beaumont?"

Bruce had never seen Clint pale so quickly.

**_Fall_**

Someone along the way, more than likely Tony, had silenced the heart monitors so that Clint's hospital room was blessedly quiet. Bruce leaned back in his chair, casting a quick glance over Clint's bandaged ribs as he picked up another journal article. Something flashed on one of the monitors and Clint groaned, his head rolling restlessly on the pillow. Bruce dropped his papers and stood, holding firmly onto Clint's shoulders.

"Oh, you would wake up on my watch," he murmured. "Clint, can you hear me?"

Clint's brows furrowed as he mumbled something, his grey eyes cracking open, hazy with medication. "Sup, doc?"

Bruce smiled warmly. "You gave us a scare, buddy," he replied softly. "You've been in here a while."

Clint frowned immediately, growing slightly more lucid. "How long?"

There was something vaguely desperate in his tone and Bruce answered him soothingly. "It's only been a couple of days while your ribs healed. It's still October."

Good," he sighed, his body sinking contentedly into the mattress as he relaxed. "Don't want to miss the leaves."

Bruce grinned amusedly. "I never took you for a fan of foliage, Barton," he teased.

Clint wrinkled his nose, fidgeting. "Pretty colors," he mumbled, falling back to sleep. "Like her hair."

Bruce paused, staring as Clint's breathing evened out, and smiled widely to himself.

He didn't say anything about the conversation, and Clint seemed not to remember that he'd even woken up. It took a full week of badgering, but the doctors finally released him, if only to rid the hospital of the sight of Natasha sharpening her knives in a chair outside his door.

Clint entered the mansion, leaning slightly on Natasha with one arm curled protectively around his ribs, to the scent of roast beef and mashed potatoes permeating the air. Steve smiled as Clint walked into the kitchen and eased himself into a chair.

"I made your favorite to celebrate finally being able to eat real food again," the soldier told him, pouring a glass of water and moving the table's gaudy flower arrangement out of the way.

Clint took a long drink from the glass. "I love you," he sighed happily, ignoring Steve's snort of amusement.

"It's a welcome home present," Steve said.

"Mine is not beating the crap out of you for a week," Natasha interjected, sliding into place beside him. He raised an eyebrow at her small smile. "It's a big sacrifice, you know."

"Appreciated," he replied, wincing as the bandages refused to allow him to slump. Tony walked in, wiping his hands on a towel.

"I bought you flowers," he announced, glaring at said flowers' new position.

Clint retorted dryly, "I noticed." Glancing around the room, he asked, "Where's Bruce?"

The patio door slid open and Bruce walked inside. "Calm down, Barton, I'm right here," he said with a smile. "I brought you a welcome home present too."

Walking to the table, Bruce gently placed a bouquet of richly hued, slightly damp, maple leaves in front of Clint that were a particular, familiar shade of red. Clint tensed, his eyes focused on the plant life in front of him. Slowly, exceedingly aware that everyone's gaze was on him, he turned around with narrowed eyes.

Bruce was standing casually with his hands in his pockets, but there was a hint of a smile playing at his lips and Clint would swear he wore a roguish look that was far more at home on Tony's face. Gritting his teeth, Clint picked up the bundle, ignoring how the color matched Natasha's hair perfectly.

"Thanks."


	5. Chapter 5

**_Afraid_**

Bruce jotted a note in the margin of the paper he was reading, absently reaching for his cup of tea. He took a small sip, grimacing at the temperature, and froze. He cocked his head, suddenly feeling that he was not alone in his lab. Glancing up, he raised an eyebrow at Natasha, who was standing in the doorway and shifting from foot to foot. Had he not known better, he'd have said that she was nervous. Bruce let her stew for another minute before he took pity.

"Can I help you with something?" It seemed that his question was Natasha's signal to grab his hands and led him forcibly from the lab. She nearly frog-marched the bemused doctor upstairs to her wide open bedroom door. Planting his hands on either side of the door frame, he dug his feet into the floor and stopped. Turning around, he stared at her. "Why do you want me in your bedroom?"

She clenched her jaw against a scathing retort, fanning Bruce's piqued curiosity, and sighed. Gently nudging him into the room, she pointed one lithe finger at a spot on the wall. Stepping closer, he could see that it was a small garden spider.

"Clint isn't here," she said from a distance behind him, and when he turned to see her, she was in the hallway again. Bruce bit back a chuckle. "Kill it."

He raised a sardonic brow, preparing to fuss, but the look on her face stopped him. Sighing softly in resignation, he opened her window. "Can we agree to removing it from the room?"

"Fine, Gandhi," she retorted. "Just get it out."

Cupping his hands, Bruce coaxed the small arachnid into his palms, to Natasha's obvious disgust, and let it gently crawl onto the windowsill. Shutting the sash firmly, with the spider now outside, he dusted his hands off and glanced at her mischievously.

"Arachnophobia, huh?"

Her eyes narrowed into slits. "If you tell Tony, I will kill you in your sleep."

**_Kitchen_**

One of the few topics that Clint and Natasha disagreed on was displays of affection. Natasha was resolutely against them, feeling that they were a show of weakness, and Clint was resolutely for them, mostly because he knew they annoyed Natasha.

They compromised in the mansion, for the most part. Clint would restrain himself when anyone else was in the room, and Natasha would permit small displays when they were alone.

Clint spied her in the kitchen, making a cup of tea, and grinned to himself. He was dripping with sweat from his training session with Steve, but she was alone, and he couldn't pass the opportunity up. Sliding through the patio door, he walked purposefully into the room, his eyes glittering.

Pulling her into his embrace, his silenced any protests quickly, grinning at her through their kiss.

She froze, almost unnaturally, and Clint stopped, releasing her. He cocked his head in question as she glared at him, clearly furious. Clint was flipping through the possible transgressions he could have committed enough to earn such a lethal stare from his wife when someone cleared their throat behind him.

Slowly, Clint pivoted to see a rather embarrassed Bruce perched by the window. "I, uh," the physicist cleared his throat, tamping down on a smile. "I didn't see a thing."

Clint had opened his mouth to reply when Natasha spoke, her arms crossed and a dry tone to her voice.

"Clearly, neither did he."

**_Appear_**

Natasha had the nastiest habit, in Tony's opinion, of appearing in places like a materialized ghost. The third time he glanced up while in his lab and she was simply there, he went to Clint.

The archer, to Tony's chagrin, laughed. "She's a spy, dude," Clint finally said when he regained his composure. "She's paid to ninja."

**_Thirst_**

Bruce watched with amusement as Clint tumbled down the stairs, reaching blindly for the coffeepot.

"We're out," he said, with no small amount of sympathy. Clint whimpered slightly, peering into the pot despite Bruce's pronouncement. Turning to the scientist, he grunted inquisitively. "Tony hasn't slept in three days and he's drained the last of our reserves. Steve's at the store now."

Clint nodded in satisfaction and pulled open the refrigerator door, rooting around. He emerged a moment later, one hand grasped triumphantly around a bottle of beer. Popping the cap on the counter, he took a long drink, sighing in satisfaction.

"You know," Bruce began as Clint plopped into a seat at the table and rested his head on his arm. "If you're thirsty, water is a much better alternative."

"It's not about thirst," Natasha said from behind him, walking into the kitchen. "He honestly likes the taste."

"Beer is amazing," Clint mumbled into the table. "I would bathe in it if I could."

"I'm glad you can't," Natasha informed him, pouring herself a mug of tea. "You'd smell even worse than normal."

**_Torn_**

Steve cursed himself for thinking that they could have a normal afternoon out as the black clad thieves spilled out into the street. On their way home from a matinee showing of the latest comedy that Clint and Tony had insisted they see, the Avengers had stumbled upon a jewelry store robbery completely unprepared.

Tony was without his suit, looking rather irked by the fact as he shifted to Steve's left. Clint fidgeted behind him, Natasha watching the robbers threatening them coolly.

"Does anyone happen to have any weapons?" Steve asked lightly, missing the reassuring weight of his shield. Bruce, frantically trying to remain calm, snickered. Steve managed to roll his eyes. "Besides you."

"I do," Natasha murmured. She stepped forward, flashing him a smile that gave the would-be thieves pause. Flicking her eyes at Clint, she asked, "Cover me?"

"Always," he grinned at her, pulling a gun from the back of his pants. Turning back to the burglars, she attacked.

Steve knew that Natasha was a trained assassin, but he was always slightly in awe of her when he watched her fight. Her moves were perfectly fluid as she disarmed the first thief and used him as a shield for another. She danced gracefully from man to man, not even pausing when one managed to catch a hold of her thin shirt and rip it completely from her torso. If she hit him a little more viciously than the rest, Steve wasn't going to call attention to the fact.

"Is her bra _sparkling_?"

Bruce coughed into his hand, covering up a laugh as Steve turned slowly to Tony, his expression blank. Tony was watching Natasha move with fascination, peering closely at her chest. Clint glanced amusedly at the billionaire.

"You know how many ways she can kill you for staring at her like this, right?"

"I don't really care right now," Tony replied with a vaguely awestruck tone. "I just found out that Natasha Romanoff, super spy, wears bras with sparkling, rhinestone cherries on them. I can die happy."

"You should see the one with the pumpkins," Clint put in helpfully. "They're fuzzy."

Tony nearly fainted with delight. "Please don't be lying to me," he entreated, finally tearing his gaze away from the redhead who was finishing up her fight. "I couldn't bear it."

"Clint buys them," Natasha announced, scowling at Tony as Steve pulled off his plaid shirt. "And I was out of clean, normal bras."

She continued to glare at the billionaire, sparing Steve a thankful glance when he held his shirt out to her gingerly. Tony frowned slightly at the exchange. He eyed Clint thoughtfully. "Why aren't you giving her your shirt?"

Clint raised an eyebrow at Tony. "Mostly, it's because I prefer her topless."

"Don't we all?" Tony murmured, yelping when Natasha punched him in the shoulder.

**_Whisper_**

"Do you think they're sleeping together?" Bruce blinked bemusedly, glancing slowly up at Tony. The billionaire shrugged, fiddling with holographic projection again. "I think they're sleeping together."

"I'm not so sure that we should be discussing this," Bruce murmured, shaking his head.

"Why not?" Tony grinned at Bruce, leaning back in his chair. "I think this is a perfectly acceptable topic of conversation."

"Because," Bruce said, eyebrows raised. His eyes flickered to the ceiling for the scarcest of seconds. "I'd like to keep my head. I know that Clint and Natasha are spies and trained assassins."

"That's something you should remember too," Clint whispered in Tony's ear.

**_Trap_**

"What are you doing with my flour?"

Tony paused for half a second before nonchalantly resuming his project. "I'm pretty sure this is my house and that I pay for the groceries, so this is technically _my _flour."

Steve strode over to him, pulling the container out of his hands. "And I pretty sure that after the last time you nearly set the house on fire trying to cook that the team declared the kitchen _my_ domain."

Tony wrinkled his nose, packing the flour more firmly. "Minor detail."

Steve watched him for a minute, his brow furrowed. "Again, what are you doing?"

"If you must know," Tony sighed. "I am making a trap."

Steve, clearly exasperated, braced himself. "What the hell do you trap with flour?"

Tony grinned. "Spies."

**_Alarm_**

"Damn it, Stark!"

Tony slid into the hallway, frowning at the sight of Natasha covered in flour. "Didn't Clint get hit?"

Clint emerged from his bedroom down the hall, rubbing tiredly at his eyes. Finally catching sight of his partner, he burst into laughter, completely unafraid of her angry growls.

She whirled on Tony, a fine sheen of powder floating into the air. "Why would Clint get hit?"

Tony backed up a few steps. "Because the alarm was meant to catch him sneaking out of your room?" At Natasha's incredulous look, he threw his hands in the air. "Come on! Genius, remember? There's no way you two aren't sleeping together. I will catch you one day," he promised.

Slamming her door shut, Natasha effectively ended the conversation as she went to shower the flour bomb from her hair. Clint, still chuckling, simply headed downstairs for breakfast. Bruce, having been awakened by the noise, looked sympathetically at Tony.

"What?" Tony frowned at the scientist.

Bruce shook his head, smiling. "What makes you think he uses the door?"

**_Cheat_**

"You can't side with the assassins because they scare you, Bruce, that's _cheating_! I thought we were Science Bros!"

**_Confused_**

"We're here to see Natalie Rushman," Steve said politely, catching the on-duty nurse's attention.

She glanced up and eyed the five men gathered around her desk. "Visiting hours are over, sir. Unless you're family, you'll have to come back tomorrow."

Nodding tiredly, Clint started down the hallway. Steve was one step behind him, dragging Tony by the arm. Thor followed without hesitation and Bruce brought up the rear, watching them all with slight amusement.

The nurse stood, calling down the hall after them. "Are you telling me that you're _all_ her family?"

"Yes ma'am," Steve replied quietly over his shoulder, a hint of steel in his voice. "All of us."

By the time they reached her suite, Bruce and Tony were arguing again. "I just don't see why you couldn't fix her at home," Tony was saying as they rounded the corner and entered the room.

"Because," Bruce murmured in a weary tone of voice that indicated this was not the first time they'd had this conversation. "I am not actually a medical doctor and no amount of reading would help me set her broken leg."

"What are you doing here?"

They turned as one towards the confused redhead. Thor cocked his head at her. "We are her to visit you and keep you company."

Natasha pursed her lips, trying to gather her patience. "It's family only after visiting hours," she explained."

Clint motioned to Steve, who pulled the bedsheets to one side, effectively sliding Natasha over and giving Clint room on the bed. He grinned at her, curling an arm around her shoulders and using the other to indicate the team. "And here we are."


	6. Chapter 6

**_Beach_**

"So," Clint began, digging his toes into the warm sand. "Read me the brief again?"

Natasha shot him a glare that was completely negated by the overly large sunglasses resting on the bridge of her nose. They made her look vaguely like a bug, but Clint would never admit that to her out loud. She opened her book, leaning back lazily in the reclining chair. "We're posing as a married couple -,"

"We are a married couple," he interjected wryly, grinning at her scowl.

She dismissed his interruption and continued, "to find and follow Grant Michealson. He's a British nationalist and SHIELD suspects him of having ties to HYDRA."

Clint wiggled his toes a little more and turned his head to the left, eyeing Natasha. "And we absolutely, positively _had_ to go the week of our anniversary?"

She flipped the page in her book, more than likely not paying attention to the words on the page at all. It was a well worn copy of _Crime and Punishment_ and Clint knew she'd read it a thousand times already. Spotting something over her shoulder, he found his attention caught.

"We weren't planning on doing anything this year, were we?"

She arched an eyebrow at him, continuing to scan the crowd lying out on the sand. "No."

"Isn't Michealson the name of one of the new agents?"

His tone was cautiously thoughtful and Natasha finally shifted in her chair to frown at him. "He came in last year."

"And Grant is Steve's middle name," Clint continued, ignoring her questioning gaze.

"Is there a point to this?" Standing, he dusted the sand from his swimsuit. Stepping in front of her, he held out a hand in invitation. She wrinkled her nose. "I'm reading."

He leaned in, placing his hands on the armrests of her chair and his lips near her ear. "You and I both know that you memorized that book years ago. And trust me," he whispered. "You'll want to be there for this."

They meandered down the strip of beach, looking casually like the second-honeymoon couple they were supposed to be. Clint led them into a beachfront restaurant, sliding silently behind the two men at the table in the corner.

"Where did they go?" one of the men muttered, looking far too sharply dressed for the beach in a linen suit that reminded Clint of a Bond villain.

"They decided to get a drink."

Tony and Bruce started, whirling in their seats. Natasha crossed her arms menacingly. Tony frowned at her, cocking his head in appraisal. "Those sunglasses make you look like a bug," he said decisively, undeterred by her growl of irritation, and Clint bit back on his chuckle of agreement. Tony glared in his direction. "How the hell did you find us, anyway?"

"Hawkeye, Iron Ass." Clint pointed at himself. "I didn't get the name because it sounded cool."

"Why are we really here?" Natasha looked at Bruce, deciding that he was the easier target as Tony opened his mouth again. "Because there is no Grant Michealson with connections to HYDRA, is there?"

Tony's outraged cry of "Of course there is!" conflicted deeply with Bruce's quiet "No." Tony glanced at the scientist, betrayal written on his face. Bruce half smiled at the assassins. "We just thought you might like to spend your anniversary somewhere nicer than the mansion."

The couple was silent for a few moments, completely unreadable, and then Clint relaxed. He grinned at Tony. "Good choice, pal. Tash is smoking in a bikini."

**_Scream_**

The piercing scream echoed loudly down the street, resounding in their ears and coming, unmistakably, from the Shawarma Palace. Clint and Steve traded weighted glances at each other before sprinting towards the restaurant.

A trio of thugs was clearly holding the terrified staff at bay, the restaurant's other customers cowering in their chairs. The bell tinkled as the two Avengers stepped into the place, and one of the thugs trained his gun on them.

"Hands up!" The staff, upon seeing who had walked in, relaxed their stances ever so slightly. Clint grinned, both at the clear tell of trust and at the would-be robbers.

"Oh, you're new here, aren't you?" He crossed his arms defiantly over his chest. The thug, who, at a second glance, couldn't be more than sixteen, cocked his pistol.

"What does that have to do with anything?" Shaking his head at himself, the kid pointed his gun emphatically at Clint. "I said put your fucking hands up!"

"Well, it really kind of matters," Clint said genially. "Because I'm Hawkeye, and this," he jerked his thumb at Steve, savoring the rapid paling of the robbers' faces, "is Captain America. And this," he gestured to the room in general, "is our favorite restaurant."

"So," Steve put in with his best Captain Voice, stepping forward. "You can either put your guns down, or we can make you put your guns down."

"Please let me make you," Clint murmured, his eyes flashing. "I've had a really bad day."

Three guns hit the floor simultaneously.

**_Reverse_**

Steve chuckled at Thor's astute observation of Tony's choice in television show, to the billionaire's obvious annoyance. Poking a finger in Thor's chest, effectively halting his movement, Tony began to lecture him on the merits of watching "The Big Bang Theory." Bruce watched with fond amusement as Steve opened the door to the training room and just as quickly closed it.

Tony paused, mid-sentence. Eyeing Steve's reddening ears, he quirked a brow in question. "Something you'd care to share with the class, Spangles?"

"Nope," Steve replied quickly, beginning to herd the group away from the room. "I just don't think now's a good time to train."

Thor furrowed his brow at Steve, unconvinced by the soldier's sudden change in mindset. "What are we to do instead?"

Steve glared halfheartedly at the demi-god. "Turn around and go back to the lounge."

"Why?" Tony crossed his arms defiantly.

"Would you rather spy on Clint and Natasha's private time?"

Tony's eyes sparked with interest. "Kind of, yes."

"Fine." Steve shrugged, moving aside and walking away. "You can be the one she kills instead of me."

Tony stopped, his hand halfway to the doorknob, and spun around. "About face, troops," he ordered Thor and Bruce. "We're retreating."

**_Hate_**

Tony was accustomed to living alone. The Avengers had known that moving in to the same place would require certain sacrifices on each of their parts, but they had prepared themselves and adjusted accordingly.

For the most part.

For the third time that week, the twenty seventh time that month, and the one hundred and sixty eight time since they moved into the mansion, Tony wandered up to the kitchen from his lab, his music trailing him at an alarming volume.

Tony's habit of constantly listening to heavy metal at unreasonable decibels was the one thing that irked the Avengers beyond reason. They all hated it, but no one had the heart to tell him what to do in his own house, until this night.

Natasha and Clint, freshly returned from a grueling mission to South Africa, cringed as Led Zeppelin's bass shook the room. Throwing the covers off, Natasha stormed to the door and down the stairs.

"Turn that music off, or so help me God, I will shatter every speaker in the house."

Tony whirled around, staring in surprise at the redheaded assassin less than an inch from his nose. "Mute," he said softly, and JARVIS cut the music. Natasha sighed in relief, mimicking the rest of the team that had trickled downstairs after her.

She narrowed her eyes at him. "If you do that again," she threatened, "I will slice you limb from limb."

"I'll help," Clint murmured, carding a hand through his ruffled hair. Tony looked to Steve and Bruce for assistance, but they simply shifted in silent agreement with the assassins.

"Okay, fine," Tony capitulated, throwing his hands in the air. Natasha stepped away, beginning back up the stairs, thankfully missing his muttered rejoinder. "You just had to ask."

**_Baby_**

Bruce sank happily into the cushions, gratefully accepting a cold beer from Steve. It had become a custom to share a drink and a meal in the lounge after a mission. Clint and Tony had brought home some obscenely greasy burgers that, honestly, completely hit the spot after a rough battle.

Natasha was favoring her left leg, and Clint set a pile of burgers in front of her. Bruce smiled. "So," he ventured, eyeing the assassins. "How long have you been married, exactly?"

Clint wrinkled his nose as Natasha took a large bite of her first burger. "Uh, four-ish years?" The archer shrugged, quickly divesting another cheeseburger of its wrapping. "We don't really remember the exact date, but it was sometime in March, I think."

Thor paused in his customary inhalation of all things edible, glancing curiously at the pair. "And you have no wish for children?"

They both stared at him for a moment, until Clint couldn't contain himself any longer. He burst into laughter, dropping his cheeseburger on the table with a soft _slap_.

"_No_," Natasha replied firmly, her face oddly pale.

Tony smirked, leaning over the arm rest to grin at her. "What? No bow stringing, red topped baby for you?"

Natasha glared at him, slugging him decisively on the shoulder.

"Well," Clint amended with a glimmer in his eye. "Not yet."

**_New_**

"Now that you're both full time Avengers, I can't allow you to get caught out on missions when the team might need you."

Clint stared at Fury and a small furrow appeared between Natasha's brows as she flatly asked, "You're grounding us?"

"Not completely. You'll be given a few of the smaller tasks, or missions that only one of the two of you can complete." Fury rolled his eye at their visible irritation, slapping two thick file folders in front of them. "I'm assigning you to recruit training."

Clint made a strangled noise. "You want us to babysit the newbies?" he protested. "That's even worse!"

Fury frowned at him. "Agent Coulson wrote in your files that you would like the chance to train new agents when the time came for you to retire from fieldwork."

"He did what?" There was a moment of pause as the office tried to grasp what Coulson had been thinking. Fury plucked Clint's file from the cabinet and flipped it open.

"Agent Barton has consistently shown exemplary skill and the capability for extreme patience. In the event of his retirement, I strongly recommend he be hired as an instructor."Fury snapped the file closed. "He wrote that right after your mission to Turkey."

Clint's face shuttered and he busied himself with picking up the folders from Fury's desk. "Are these our assignments?"

Fury nodded, too busy to care about Clint's sudden shift in temperament. "Dismissed."

Clint rose and left, Natasha trailing him. Quickening her steps, she caught up and glanced at his face, surprised when she saw his eyes glimmering with barely contained mirth. He barreled into his room, bursting into surprised chuckles. "I can't believe he remembered," Clint laughed, his eyes fond. "I told Phil once that I really wanted a chance to haze the new guys, and he actually got it for me. Son of a bitch."

The realization struck Natasha like a bolt of lightning."So, what you're telling me," she said, leaning back in his chair lazily, looking like a predatory cat. "Is that we're getting the SHIELD equivalent of pledges."

Clint grinned gleefully. "They won't know what hit them."

**_Movie_**

Tony and Steve entered the mansion to the sound of Hollywood gunfire and campy, trumpet-heavy music. Tony groaned, loudly wondering what bad seventies cop film Clint had dug up, when they walked into the lounge and stopped dead in their tracks. Captain America was leading a charge through palm treed scenery, Nazi troops falling left and right in exaggerated death throes. The room turned around to look innocently at the returning pair. Tony was gaping openly at the screen, Steve blushing deeply next to him.

Tony narrowed his eyes at Natasha. "What didn't you understand about 'stay out of my attic'?"

"I haven't been back into your attic," Natasha replied primly, returning her attention to the screen. "I brought these down the first time."

Clint grinned widely at Steve, something akin to glee in his eyes. "We've got your whole collection."

For the entire next week, Steve was greeted with various renditions of "The Star Spangled Man," to his everlasting dismay.

**_Stuck_**

"Cap, we are stuck in the Shawarma Palace and there are photographers _everywhere_. Bruce, you have to breathe, okay, buddy? Just like Lamaze, in and out." Clint was alternating between frantically trying to calm Bruce down and calling for the team. He clapped his hands on Bruce's shoulders and looked into his eyes. Hulk was close to the surface, turning Bruce's irises a vibrant green. "Damn it, hurry up!" he snarled into the comm. "Hulk, pal, you gotta calm down. That is Bruce's favorite shirt and he's going to be very sad if you rip it."

_"Copy that, Barton," _Steve's voice rang through the comm. "_We're on our way._"

Steve heard Clint breathe a sigh of relief as he turned to Tony and Natasha. The billionaire had two sets of car keys in his hand, gesturing for the elevator. "What's our plan, Spangles?"

"We'll need a distraction to clear them out of there, probably through the back, since most of the photographers will be at the front window for pictures," Steve replied grimly. "From what I can gather, Bruce is close to turning."

"I can distract them," Tony offered, sliding into a shiny sports car.

"No," Natasha said succinctly. "They have thousands of pictures of you and you no longer pay. You are not enough of a distraction. Steve, get in the car."

Ignoring Tony's protests, she bustled Steve into the passenger's seat of the sports car and threatened Tony into a sedan. They drove wildly through the streets to the restaurant, Tony heading to the back entrance and Natasha, the radio blaring, cutting a path through the crowd gathered at the front of the Shawarma Palace.

As the photographers began to shout, "Hey, there's the Black Widow!" Natasha undid her seatbelt and turned to Steve.

"Rogers, do you trust me?"

He looked vaguely shell-shocked. "Well, yeah, but – mmph!"

Anything else he was going to say was muffled as Natasha threw herself into his lap and attached her lips to his. Steve tensed immediately beneath her thighs as flashbulbs created a strobe light effect behind their eyelids. As the photographers from the back alley abandoned their post, Tony walked calmly into the restaurant, smiling widely at the owners. Clint stood, staring out the window with one finger raised at the tableau.

"What the fuck is Rogers doing to my wife?" he asked in a strangled voice.

Tony snorted. "It's Rogers and _your wife_. Do you really think he's the one in control right now?" Dragging him out after Bruce, Tony spoke into the comms. "We're clear, Tasha. You can let Spangles up for air now."

Natasha broke the decidedly one-sided kiss, smiling apologetically at Steve. Wiping a streak of lipstick from his cheek, she fell back into the driver's seat and took off, throwing back a wave at the paparazzi as she sped down the road.

**_Happy_**

Natasha seemed to take their status as instructors in stride, though the way she pushed her pupils spoke of the frustration she felt. It was customary to see her students roaming the halls stiffly, sporting black eyes and bruises.

Clint preferred a different approach to breaking his students in.

Tony walked in on his class one day, intent on speaking with Clint about an upgrade for his arrows. The archer was standing at the side of the training mat, watching as his students worked their way through an obstacle course. He gave Tony some of his attention when the billionaire walked up, keeping his eyes trained on the class. Mid-sentence, he motioned for Tony to wait.

"Recruits," he barked, freezing the class as a whole. "What have you forgotten?"

After a split second of panicked silence, one lone, brave girl answered him. "Maintain form and silence, sir."

Clint grinned, a feral edge to the expression. "And what does that mean?"

Tony watched with amusement as the class seemed to slump in place. The girl matched Clint's gaze defiantly, opened her mouth, and began to sing. A halfhearted rendition of the children's song "Little Bunny Foo Foo" echoed through the gym as the students continued to run through the course. Tony's lips twitched into a full blown grin. Clint simply looked smugly back, crossing his arms. Scant seconds later, Steve walked into the gym and Clint's eyes gleamed.

"Why hello there, Captain Rogers," he called and Tony winced at the volume. He glared at the archer, opening his mouth to complain, when the class immediately switched their song to "The Star Spangled Man."

Tony snorted a laugh into his hand as Steve's jaw clenched, the soldier glaring outright at Clint's perfectly impassive face. "Why?" Steve managed to ask, coming to stand besides his teammates.

Clint's eyes twinkled as his students belted out the second verse. "Because it makes me happy."

**_Affair_**

"_And next up is Affair of the Avengers! Has the fickle Black Widow truly left hunky Hawkeye for the iconic Captain America? We find out, after the break._"

Clint burst into laughter.

The lounge froze at the gossip show's announcement, every eye alternating between Steve, who looked pained at the insinuations and Clint, who was still laughing uncontrollably. Glaring at Natasha, Steve pointed a stern finger at her.

"The next time you ask me if I trust you, I'm saying no," he told her firmly.

"If you think that will do you any good," Tony muttered, sipping at a tumbler of scotch.


	7. Chapter 7

**_Arrival_**

Bruce bit back a wince at the sudden onslaught of noise. Steve sighed exasperatedly, his shoulders tense.

Natasha closed her eyes, looking slightly pained as Thor glanced at her, confused. Clint frowned.

"If Stark is going to make an entrance, can't he pick a song better than _this_ to enter to?"

**_Prison_**

"Just think about it, Bruce."

Tony was pleading. He _never _pleaded. He was Tony Stark, but he was pleading now, and Bruce could only shake his head.

"You don't understand," he began, but was interrupted by Steve.

"Then help us," the soldier entreated. "We want to understand."

Bruce made an exasperated noise in the back of his throat. "I have to keep him locked in the back of my mind."

"Or what?" Clint cocked his head, looking so like his namesake that Bruce had to bite his tongue so as not to comment on it. "Is he just going to show up at dinner one night?"

"Maybe," Bruce replied defensively, feeling the Hulk stirring in his brain.

"Has this happened before?" Bruce wanted to throw his hands in the air when Thor spoke. Without the demi-god's support, a large chunk of his argument was flimsy.

"Not as such, no," he admitted.

Natasha had been silent throughout the entire exchange, and Bruce was pinning all his hopes on her. If anyone could back him up, it _would_ be her. "So, your entire strategy is to keep him in a prison," she murmured. "And the only way he sees anything is when he breaks out." Making a face that sent Bruce's heart plummeting, she _tsked_. "I'd be pissed all the time too, if I were him."

Bruce looked helplessly from one teammate to another, desperately trying to ignore the rumbling in the back of his mind. "What would you have me do?"

"Maybe, just maybe," Tony said gently. "He wouldn't be so angry if you let him out once in a while."

Clapping Bruce on the shoulder as they filed out of his room, Steve smiled softly. "It's just something to think about."

**_Restaurant_**

The table was silent as the waiters brought out the food, staring blankly at the large plates and tiny portions the high-end French chef was serving them.

Tony and Natasha were perfectly at ease in their cocktail attire, relaxing calmly in the empty restaurant. Steve and Bruce were far less so, fidgeting uncomfortably in the booth. Clint was perfectly oblivious to any tensions in the room and Thor had steadfastly refused to take off his armor, lending an air of theatricality to the whole procession.

The waiters returned haughtily to the kitchen, leaving the team to stare at their plates with disappointment. Thor leaned over to Steve.

"Do we also consume the plates for nutrition?"

Clint snorted as Steve rolled his eyes. "No, Thor," he murmured. "We don't eat the plates."

Thor poked forlornly at his food, as if he expected it to quintuple in size if he agitated it long enough, like Bruce did when Hulk emerged. A waiter passed on his way to restocking the bar, his cart full of bottles of liquor. Clint's eyes lit up as he spied the man and he deftly plucked a bottle of whiskey from the trolley.

"And this is mine," he muttered, cracking the seal and waving the waiter on as he took a drink. Tony sighed, pulling out his phone.

"Pep, what the hell is this?" The team watched his conversation with far more interest than they were showing their meals. "I get that we're on a budget for the rebuilding efforts, but can't we afford more food than this? Thor can't live on two bites."

Clint snickered out loud and even Steve hid a smile behind his napkin, watching Thor nod emphatically. Bruce eyed Clint's outfit with curiosity, listening absently to Tony's complaints.

"I thought we had to dress in black tie," he murmured to Natasha.

She turned to him, a furrow between her brows. "We did."

"Then why is Clint wearing his tactical gear?"

Clint frowned across the table, pointing a stern finger at Bruce. "I did. This is black and it ties, right here, see?" He gestured to a small bow on the bottom of his vest as Tony's voice rose ever so slightly.

"I do not need to be taught a lesson, Miss Virginia Potts, and certainly not in this manner." Every brow at the table raised in unison. "Yes, the Shawarma Palace is compromised and yes, Bruce might Hulk Out if the paparazzi show up again, but at least they'll serve me a full damned meal when I go there."

With a flourish, he hung up the phone. Thor eyed him hopefully. "We may eat shawarma now?"

"Yes we may," Tony said decisively, standing. "Clint, bring the booze. I need a drink."

**_Sink_**

_drip. drip. drip._

Frowning at the kitchen sink, Steve dropped his newspaper on the table with a soft noise and groaned at the sight of water pooling beneath the counter. With a resigned sigh, he removed his button down shirt and knelt in front of the sink, intending to fix the leak.

Pulling open the cabinet doors, he stopped short and stared at the mess of wires and hoses that were backlit with an eerie blue glow that reminded him of the arc reactor. Rolling his eyes, he stood and nearly jumped at the sight of Clint sitting on the table by his paper.

The archer grinned at him, picking an apple from the bowl on the table and biting into it. "Is the great Captain America having issues fixing the sink?"

Ignoring the jab, Steve raised his hands in the air. "I can't do it."

"What?" Clint laughed. "It's a sink, Cap. That technology hasn't changed in the last hundred years."

Steve glared at him. "Tell that to Tony," he retorted, crossing his arms over his chest. "Let's see if you can do any better."

Shrugging his shoulders, Clint set his apple on the table and held out his hand. "Tools?"

Steve looked blankly at him for a second, recognition dawning in his eyes. He was almost sheepish as he replied, "I was just going to use my hands."

Clint stared at him, processing. He shook his head. "Never mind." Dropping to a crouch in front of the sink, he blinked at the chaos. "Yeah, no," he muttered, standing. "Stark can fix this. It's his damned house."

They stared at the sink for a long minute before turning to the lab together. Tony was neck deep in one of the Mark suits, throwing insults at Dummy who was, again, brandishing a fire extinguisher. Clint entered his code and walked calmly into the lab, Steve following him hesitantly.

"Tony." Steve wisely stayed behind the clumsy AI. Tony grunted from inside the torso of the armor, which Steve took as "go on." "We need you to fix the leak in the kitchen sink."

"You," Clint emphasized as Tony stilled and began backing his way out of the chest piece. "_You_ need him to fix the leaky sink."

Steve's retort was cut off by Tony raising a sardonic brow at the pair of them. "America's hero and the master spy can't fix one measly sink?" Flicking his gaze between the unamused faces of the pair, he rolled his eyes. "Just put a patch on the main water line. I'll be up to fix it in a few hours."

"Awesome," Clint said, crossing his arms. "Where'd you put it?"

Tony paused, blinking at the archer. Clint simply stared back with raised brows, waiting for Tony to remember what he'd done to the sink. The billionaire's face lightened and he smirked. "Go back upstairs," he advised, trying not to laugh at the situation. "I'll fix the sink."

**_Fly_**

"Why is Clint always the one that gets to fly the planes?"Tony griped from the main bay of the Quinjet. "I have a pilot's license too."

Forestalling a nasty retort from Natasha, Steve explained patiently, "Clint flies because he has the most experience with Quinjets and because he doesn't find barrel rolls funny enough to do them mid-flight."

"Barrel rolls are awesome," Tony shot back, pointing a stern finger at Steve. "Don't knock barrel rolls."

**_Crime_**

"For God's sake, hold _still_," Natasha snapped, her fingers digging inexorably into Steve' side. "Stark, cover us."

"It's fine, Natasha," Steve tried pushing lightly at her questing hands, wincing when she ripped a small piece of his uniform away completely as Tony landed in front of them.

"You look like you went ten rounds with a meat grinder and lost, Stars and Stripes," he said grimly, blasting his repulsors at anything that moved. "You need to get patched if you're going to be of any use at all."

A not so distant roar told them Hulk was still in control of Bruce's body. Tony and Natasha traded glances. Steve groaned. "Fine," he wheezed, adjusting his grip on his shield. "Just get it over with."

Natasha pulled a blade from her boot and flipped it open, slicing along the shoulder and side seams of Steve's uniform. She reached down for her med kit as he ripped the cloth from his torso, biting back a grunt of pain as it pulled at the ragged edges of his wound. Natasha finally glanced back up as he pulled his undershirt off and paused.

Steve furrowed his brow at her. "What?" he panted, confused. "I know it's bad, but it can't be that bad, can it? I can feel it healing already."

In a voice that wavered ever so slightly, Natasha met his eyes seriously. "It is a _crime_ to keep a body that perfect beneath those ugly plaid shirts."

Tony choked on a laugh, ignoring Clint's protests through the comm system as Steve's face slowly turned a brilliant shade of red.

**_Danger_**

"Food," Tony crowed, reaching for a buttermilk biscuit, and frowned when Steve slapped his hand away.

"We can't start yet, because Clint isn't here," he reminded the billionaire, suppressing a smile at the petulant look Tony shot him. "Natasha, will you go get him?"

"Nope. Too early to have a gun in my face, thank you." The table, as a whole, blinked confusedly at the assassin. Glancing up at them from Bruce's crossword puzzle, she clarified. "It's a danger zone in there in the mornings. It's best to just let him go."

"Scared?" Tony eyed her with a gleam in his eyes, ignoring her scowl. Standing decisively, he stepped away from the table. "I'll get him."

"Don't, Tony, please," Natasha requested. He turned back to her, thoroughly intrigued. "I may threaten to kill you daily, but Clint actually might."

"Well, we need food and Betsy Ross won't let us eat until he gets down here," Tony said, ignoring Steve's exaggerated eye roll. "So, JARVIS? Get him up."

"_Of course, sir._" There was a silent pause as they waited for confirmation that Clint was on his way. "_Agent Barton is now mobile, sir._"

There was a loud _thunk_, followed by muffled thumping noises as Clint stumbled into the hallway and down the stairs. Tony grinned widely at Natasha's skeptical face as Clint emerged from the stairwell, eyed closed and hair disheveled. Tony frowned at the wires and plastic gripped in Clint's hand.

"What the hell is that?"

Clint stopped and drew his arm back, hurling what appeared to be the speaker from the intercom system at Tony's head. The billionaire hit the floor, Bruce diving under the table with him. Steve, startled, dropped the platter of toast and caught the speaker reflexively before it hit his chest. Natasha sipped calmly at her coffee as Clint shuffled back up the stairs.

Steve looked appreciatively at his hands. "He should play baseball with an arm like that," he muttered.

Bruce ducked out from underneath the table, glancing at Tony with wide eyes. "So," he turned to Natasha. "I see what you meant by 'danger zone'."

**_Light_**

Moving silently down the hall, Clint grinned to himself. He almost couldn't believe that Steve was letting him wake Tony up for breakfast, but, when he thought about it, it made a bit of sense. Steve, being an Army man, was well-versed in the art of camaraderie and pranks.

Reaching Tony's door, he eased it opened and took one step back as silver blue light spilled into the hallway. Peeking back into the room, he stifled a laugh. Tony was lying on his back, arms akimbo, the light form the arc reactor filling the room. Grinning wildly, Clint snuck in and hid his boxful of alarms in various places around the room.

When Tony finally joined them downstairs, he was carrying the remains of one of the alarm clocks and looking extremely annoyed. Clint smirked and nudged Natasha. "Did you know that Stark sleeps with a night light?"

Bruce looked up from his crossword puzzle, his brow furrowed. "What?"

"Yup," Clint grinned, watching Tony completely forgo his coffee cup and drinking straight from the pot. "He's so scared of the dark that he had to make himself a built in one," he joked, gesturing toward the arc reactor.

"Barton," Tony croaked.

Clint swallowed a sip of coffee. "Yeah?"

"Shut up."

**_Back Alley_**

The ongoing prank war between Clint and Tony had been amusing at first, Bruce had thought. Watching two of the most capable men he knew degenerate into ten year old boys was both hilarious and fascinating but, in the end, Clint won.

Bruce himself was feeling stressed, cursing another setback in his current project and Steve was starting to get antsy about their growing lateness for their briefing when the GPS took them down another wrong turn that led the team into one of the sketchiest parts of town. Men were standing menacingly outside doorways glaring that the government issued vehicle the Avengers were riding around in. Clint had managed to cut Tony's line to JARVIS in addition to tampering with the GPS, and the billionaire was rapidly growing enraged at his inability to navigate, resorting to the loudly declaring his intent of leaving Clint in a back alley somewhere.

**_Flood_**

"Are you sure this is a good idea?"

Clint glanced back at Tony, one eyebrow raised. "What? Getting cold feet, chicken?"

"No," Tony glared at his friend, weaving around a gaggle of new recruits. "I'm just suddenly remembering that Natasha is _a trained assassin_ and we are about to piss her off."

"You have no idea," Clint replied, his eyes dancing as he opened the doors to the training room and entered. "She was wearing a white shirt when she left the room today."

Tony stopped in his tracks. "I am going to die," he muttered.

Natasha was standing at the edge of the large training mat, watching her students spar with each other in pairs. They were doing fairly well, for beginners, but Natasha had a glint in her eye that spelled trouble.

Clint walked purposefully to the corner and picked up a tall ladder, setting it up near the edge of the room. Natasha watched him with marginal interest as he climbed to the top. Smirking down at her, he pulled a lighter from his pants pocket and, before she could protest, lit it beneath the sprinkler system.

It took a few second for the system to register the tiny wisp of smoke, but once the sprinklers finally kicked on, the gym quickly flooded. Shocked by the sudden downpour, agents and students alike ran from the gym. Natasha remained, her hands on her hips, glaring outright at her partner. Clint ignored her anger, sliding down the ladder with ease.

"Why?"

He grinned at her sharp question. "You looked like you needed to cool off."


	8. Chapter 8

**_Choke_**

Two empty pitchers and half a bottle of the best scotch the bar could boast into the night, Tony felt comfortable enough to challenge Clint to a game of darts. After losing three games in a row, however, he was more than a little irritated.

"What the hell, Barton?" He gestured towards another bullseye and tried not to think about how his words were slurring. "You've had just as much as me _and_ you keep eyeing that waitress, which I am telling Natasha about, by the way."

Clint laughed at Tony, his movements loose and sloppy. Another dart sank into the center of the board. The archer grinned at his friend, taking another sip of beer. "Again, Iron Ass, I'm _Hawkeye_. I never choke and I never miss."

**_Fire_**

The smoke alarms echoed through the mansion, jarring everyone from their sleep. Steve barreled down the stairs, shield in arm, followed by Natasha and a very sleepy Bruce. A wall of smoke hit them at the base of the stairs, and Steve fought through it, trying not to flash back to the war. Natasha ran to the patio doors and threw them open, trying to create a breeze.

The smoke eventually dissipated, revealing Clint and Tony looking extremely guilty in the kitchen. Tony was frozen arms outstretched towards Clint, who was in the process of dumping a skillet full of blackened eggs into the sink.

"What," Steve asked in a strangled voice. "Are you doing?"

Clint dropped the skillet onto the counter, wiping his hands on a towel. "Fixing breakfast."

"It's three in the morning," Bruce muttered, rubbing at his eyes.

"Hence the momentary issues with breakfast," Tony replied, pointing at the blackened eggs.

Natasha walked into the kitchen, taking in the scene, and rolled her eyes at the pair. "This is why Steve cooks," she told them.

**_Deliver_**

"Best news ever, Spangles," Tony announced, the hint of a grin on his face. "Seriously, these will be the best four words you ever hear."

Steve snorted, turning the page in his book. "Better than, 'I love you too' or 'we've discovered time travel'?"

"Absolutely," Tony replied, without hesitation. His eyes glittered mischievously. "The Shawarma Palace delivers."

**_Genius_**

Clint sighed, raking a hand through his hair. "I just don't know how I'm going to get these kids to understand."

Steve hummed inarticulately under his breath, his brow furrowed. "What's the problem?"

Clint glared at the soldier. "You're not listening to me, and that's hurtful, Steve."

"I'm sorry." Steve finally looked up from his book, marking the page and setting it on the table as Tony walked into the kitchen. "I'm listening now."

Clint stared at him for a few moments before he decided that Steve was sincere. "My new recruits don't understand why they have to complete their four-one-fives."

Steve snickered, his eyes laughing. "And you're the one that has to tell them?"

"You're not funny," Clint hissed teasingly, before he leaned back, rubbing his hands down his face. "How am I supposed to explain this to them?"

Steve smiled at him, somewhat wry and somewhat fond. "You just tell them. Four-one-fives are important because they are what get entered into the system. Without those, we wouldn't be able to communicate from department to department. So yeah, they're tedious, but they are also the link that helps us catch the bad guys and be heroes, right?"

Clint stared at him, incredulous. "You're a genius."

Tony, forgotten in the kitchen, made a strangled noise. "I design an arrow with a hollow shaft containing a brand new type of explosive, and you just clapped me on the shoulder. Spangles explains post-mission briefs to you and he gets to be the genius? How is that fair?"

**_Hospital_**

Bruce smiled softly to himself. The team's visit to the children's ward of the local hospital was going perfectly, if he had to admit it.

Tony was charming his way through the halls, letting kids try on his helmet left and right. Steve was teaching a group of young boys how to properly throw his shield and protect themselves from the Nerf darts that Clint and his groupies were aiming their way. Natasha had acquired a cult following of star-struck little girls that she was teaching how to dance and a few older boys who were desperately trying to impress her. There was a line of kids trying to lift Mjölnir, to Thor's amusement, but Bruce could tell that something was bothering the Asgardian.

As the nurses fussed and nudged and generally bustled the Avengers out of the children's ward, there were hugs and fist bumps and promises to write and visit again, and Thor seemed to Bruce to look relieved.

Catching up to him, Bruce caught his attention. "Are you okay?"

Pausing, Thor watched the rest of the team pile into the cars with a hesitant eye. "They were children."

"Well, yeah," Bruce replied, blinking with confusion. "I thought we told you that we were going to the children's ward."

"Of a hospital," Thor reminded him. "You said it was akin to our houses of healing."

Bruce motioned Tony to drive out without them, catching the keys that Clint tossed to him. "It is," he answered. "From what I can tell."

Thor was shaking his head before Bruce finished his thought. "We do not have small ones in our healing rooms." He glanced back up at the hospital, frowning. "Our children are not so frail."

The proverbial light bulb clicked on for Bruce and he nodded. "You didn't like seeing kids so sick?"

"Children should be loud and lively and full of health and vigor," Thor said firmly. "Not as such here."

Bruce smiled sadly at his friend. "No," he murmured, agreeing as he nudged the Asgardian to the car. "Not as such here."

**_Crazy_**

"What the hell is this?"

Clint and Tony immediately froze, their eyes wide with apprehension at Natasha's lethally quiet tone. Slowly rolling from beneath Clint's old pickup, they both looked up at her innocently. Narrowing her eyes in suspicion, she shook the small bottle for emphasis. Clint cautiously held out his hand for the bottle, catching it reflexively when she hurled it at his head. Turning it over, he saw what had her so irate.

Astounded, he turned to Tony. "You gave her a bottle of Midol?"

Natasha made an inarticulate noise in the back of her throat. Tony shrunk back against the side of the truck, trying to play cool by crossing his arms over his chest.

"Pepper needs it sometimes and I knew that she'd run through her stash, and I figured poor little Steve wouldn't know why we needed it so he'd forget it at the store, so I had some shipped here."

"You had a case of five hundred bottles shipped here," Natasha snarled, her fingers itching to curl themselves around Tony's neck. "Five hundred bottles of Midol could last the female population of a small town for half the year!"

Tony had the gall to glare back at her. "I was trying to be nice, Agent Romanoff." He sniffed, inspecting the grease caught beneath his fingernails. "See if I ever do anything nice for you again."

Growling at him, she clenched her hands and whirled on one foot, slamming the lab door as she stormed back upstairs. Tony slumped in place as Bruce stepped curiously into the lab. The billionaire turned to Clint, shaking his head.

"She is certifiable, you know."

Clint shrugged, grinning. "She might be crazy, but I love her anyway."

**_Late_**

"'And don't you dare be late,' she said," Steve murmured, a sad smile on his face as he pressed his forehead into the cool glass of his tumbler. Tony was blessedly silent in the chair beside him, for the first time that Steve could remember, simply offering a steady presence. Steve shifted, blinking back the sting of tears that was threatening to overwhelm him, and stared at the crisp obituary, cut out of the day's paper with care. He tossed back the contents of the glass, praying for the burn of the alcohol, and swallowed heavily. "I think I was."

**_Neutral_**

"We need to talk, Steve."

Steve raised his eyebrows, closing his sketchbook and tucking his pencil behind his ear. "Oh God," he muttered, eyeing Tony and Clint with trepidation. "What have you two done now?"

Clint made himself comfortable on Steve's bed, toeing his boots off at the look on the soldier's face. "Nothing. Lately," he amended after a moment of thought. "We're here to talk to you about you."

"Not my favorite topic, I'll admit," Steve said, leaning back in his chair. "But I'll bite. What's on your mind?"

The archer and billionaire traded weighted glances before answering together, "_You_."

Steve blinked. "What?"

Tony sighed, dropping to a seated position on Steve's old Army trunk, his elbows resting on his knees. "You're in neutral, pal." At Steve's blank look and Clint's poking, he elaborated. "You're not really living. You exist."

Steve furrowed his brow, crossing his arms defensively over his chest. "I'm not sure I understand what you're getting at."

Tony turned entreatingly to Clint. The archer sat up in response, nodding. "You get up and go through the motions, but you don't have any drive. You learn just enough to help you get by. You trust only the team and you talk to the barest minimum of SHIELD personnel when you make a trip to the helicarrier. You're not trying to learn new things or make new friends or find yourself a girlfriend."

"I don't want a girlfriend," the soldier interjected with exasperation, his cheeks turning pink.

"Yet," Tony replied gently and without the slightest hint of teasing. "What happens when you do?"

"We're not trying to attack you," Clint murmured, watching Steve tense and withdraw. "We just wanted to tell you that you weren't fooling us."

"Trust me," Tony said with a smile. "I know how well pulling away from the world doesn't work."

Shimmying off the bed, Clint stood and tapped Tony's arm. "Just think about it," he entreated softly, his eyes kind. "For your own sake."

Steve glanced at his two friends, reading their sincerity loud and clear. Suddenly unable to speak around the lump in his throat, he nodded, croaking out a whispered, "I will."

**_Cancer_**

The line at the grocery store was irritatingly long and Clint suppressed a sigh as the family in front of them began pulling coupons from their pockets, knowing that it would only earn him a lecture from Steve later. His eyes wandered, flitting over the gossips rags and tabloids he knew Natasha hated. A few of them still had photos of the Avengers on the cover, trying to milk the last bit of profit from their announcement. Clint smoothly bypassed those, no longer interested in what they thought Banner's favorite color was and whether or not he and Natasha were in a relationship. Instead, Clint plucked a copy of _The National Enquirer_ from the stands and began to flip directly to the horoscopes.

"You read those?" Steve's voice was quietly amused as he watched Clint flick through the pages.

Clint raised his brows, but did not deign to look at Steve. "And if I do?"

"Nothing," Steve replied, laughter bubbling in his throat. "But, based on your personal library, I was certain you had better taste than this."

Clint glared at Steve through his lashes for a long moment before he turned back to the magazine in his hands. "When's your birthday?"

Steve quirked a brow at him, shifting forward minutely. Clint nearly grinned at the subtle tell. Steve was getting restless with the shoppers ahead of them too. "July fourth," the soldier replied absently and Clint burst into laughter. "What?"

Clint tried to quell his chuckles. "Seriously?"

Steve scowled at him. "Why did you need to know that?"

"You're a Cancer," Clint told him, still sniggering. At Steve's blank look, he explained. "It's your astrological sign."

"My _what_?"

The archer rolled his eyes. "Not important, really, but some people think that they can predict your personality traits and who you'll be compatible with based on when you were born." Holding the magazine aloft, he spared a glance at Steve. "You are domestic, nurturing, shy, and emotional. You would get along with Virgo, Scorpio, Pisces, and Taurus."

Steve hummed inattentively, humoring Clint. Clint glanced sidelong at his friend, grinning wickedly.

"You know, Maria is a Virgo." Steve turned slowly to face Clint, his face perfectly expressionless. Clint shrugged, replacing the magazine and beginning to unload their cart, pointedly ignoring the slight dusting of a blush on the bridge of Steve's nose. "Just saying."

**_Chance_**

Steve sighed as he watched Tony make his way unsteadily into the kitchen. The soldier glanced at Bruce with grim resignation. "Which one do you want tonight?"

"Clint," Bruce replied without hesitation. "The last time I put Drunk Tony to bed, he kept trying to get me to stay the night."

"Thanks for the warning," Steve murmured, carefully approaching the swaying billionaire. Bruce grinned with amusement as Steve skillfully corralled Tony and sat him firmly on the couch. "Let's get your shoes off, Stark."

"No!" Tony pushed ineffectively at Steve's shoulders. "It starts with the shoes and then it's the shirt and then you have me naked and you're trying to have your wicked way with me. I don't swing that way, Spangles, and I'm taken!"

"Good to know," Steve grunted, finally pulling Tony's footwear from his feet and tossing them behind him. Bruce turned to Clint, tuning out the small scuffle at his back.

Clint grinned widely at him from his reclined position in the corner of the couch. "Hi."

"Hi," Bruce replied, his voice bubbling with amusement.

Clint leaned forward, and Bruce's hand moved to hover over the nearby trashcan – the limitations of Clint's equilibrium was a lesson he did not need to repeat. The archer looked up at him with solemn eyes. "We need to talk."

"Sounds serious," Bruce murmured, pulling his friend gently into a standing position.

"It is," he insisted. "You and Steve both, you're just, just _sad_!"

Bruce glanced over at Steve, his brow furrowed. His confusion only grew when Steve simply rolled his eyes, clearly aware of what Clint meant and more than a little exasperated.

The archer continued, oblivious to the silent conversation passing between the sober half of the room. "Steve won't go after Maria, and he needs to, because he _does_," he shot at the soldier.

"Still not your business, Barton," Steve retorted, raising his voice slightly over Tony's vehement support, his cheeks tinged pink. Hauling Tony to his feet, they began to make their way to the stairs.

"And you," Clint pointed a wobbly finger in Bruce's face as they began to migrate towards the bedrooms after Steve and Tony. "You need some sex, that's what you need. And not just the sex, but that is important, you need the nice girl, 'cause you're a nice guy. Someone sweet. And sharp."

"That's rather specific," Bruce muttered, steering Clint down the hallway and into his room.

"Yes," Clint agreed, knocking his shoulder on the doorframe. "Like that mouthy hipster chick of Jane's."

Bruce paused by Clint's bed, his grip falling lax, allowing the archer to tumble face first into his pillow. "Darcy?"

Clint's "Yes!" was muffled, but heard all the same. Bruce shook his head. "Clint, I can't. The sober part of your brain knows that."

"You can," Clint insisted, squirming to face Bruce. "And you should."

Shaking his head again, Bruce tugged off the archer's boots and emptied his pockets, ignoring Clint's myriad of deceptively good reasons why he should ask Jane Foster's research assistant on a date. Flicking the light off, Bruce left the room as Clint's yelled parting shot echoed down the hall.

"One of these days, you're going to have to let someone else show you that they're trustworthy. Might as well start with a hot chick."


	9. Chapter 9

**_Kill_**

"Barton, get up," Tony commanded as he burst into Natasha's room. Clint and Natasha both stared at him, guns drawn. Tony ignored them. "You, me, bar, now."

Trading glances with Natasha, Clint shrugged and moved to follow Tony, pulling his boots on as he hopped after the billionaire. They were halfway down the hall when Tony looked back.

"You too, Red," he called, looking mildly pleased when Natasha emerged from her room. Thor poked his head out at the noise in the hallway.

"What is happening?"

"We're going to the bar because I had a shitastic meeting with my board and I am thoroughly annoyed," Tony replied as he moved purposefully down the stairs. "Get your coat, Point Break. It's time to go."

Arriving at the Vintage Room, Tony flung the door open, Clint at his shoulder. Steve and Bruce jumped, startled at the intrusion. "We're going to a bar and getting shitfaced," Clint announced over Tony's shoulder.

"We'll pick you up at last call," Steve assured them, turning back to his book.

Tony frowned. "You're coming with us."

Steve and Bruce looked dubiously at each other. "No," they replied simultaneously.

Tony huffed, clearly gathering himself. "Please," he muttered through gritted teeth.

Bruce smiled, shaking his head, but Steve visibly wavered and caved at Tony's pleading look. Turning to Bruce, he shrugged. "It wouldn't kill us to go out."

**_Nut_**

Thor watched Clint with abject curiosity as they sat together in the seedy bar the archer insisted the team spend the evening in. Tony was near the stage, badgering Bruce into a karaoke version of Boston's "Peace of Mind," and Natasha was helping Steve get another round for the table.

Clint had curled himself around the bowl of mixed nuts that sat on the table, methodically picking out the peanuts and occasionally sipping at his warming beer. Taking a long drink, Thor set his empty glass on the table with a distinctive clink. "Why do you separate them?"

Clint blinked at the demi-god for a moment as he came out of his stupor. Flicking his tired eyes between the diminishing contents of the bowl and the pile of peanuts overflowing on a napkin, he gave a half-smile and shook his head at himself. Leaning back in his seat, he ran a hand over his face and smiled at Thor.

"Coulson didn't like peanuts," he explained. "He wasn't allergic. He just didn't like them. So whenever we went somewhere that had nuts like this, I'd pick them out for him." Sweeping the nuts into his palm, he dropped them into Thor's glass, grinning nostalgically. "Habit now, I suppose."

**_Come_**

"Pep!"

Pepper sighed in exasperation at the sight of the obviously inebriated Tony and Clint. A bottle of scotch was nearly empty between them and Tony was wearing his most drunken smile. Lurching upwards from the couch, he ignored Clint's giggles, bracing himself against the wall. She shot Natasha a resigned look as Tony stumbled towards her.

"You, madam, are gorgeous," he slurred at her, keeping one hand clenched around his glass. Encircling her waist with his other, he pulled her flush against him. "And we are going to dance."

She made a small noise of protest as he began waltzing her around the room, but it was halfhearted, at best. Tony, when he chose, was an excellent dancer, even if he could barely stand. Smiling at her, he jeered over her shoulder. "Bet you can't do this, Hawkass!"

"Oh yeah," Clint retorted, reaching a hand out for Natasha. She rolled her eyes at him, but gripped it nonetheless. He pulled himself up from the floor, far steadier than Tony, and smiled at Natasha. "JARVIS, play me something to dance to."

"_Of course, Agent Barton_," the AI replied with characteristic poise, and the soft strains of _Moon River_ echoed throughout the lab. Pepper laughed happily, resting her forehead on Tony's shoulder as Clint and Natasha began to dance literal circles around them.

Neither set of dancers noticed Bruce peek confusedly through the break room at the change in music and then steal upstairs. Knocking hurriedly on Steve's door, he apologized profusely for waking the sleeping soldier.

"Come with me," he entreated, a smile on his face. "You have _got _to see this."

**_Knife_**

Tony finally tore himself away from his lab, at Steve's insistence, and trudged into the lounge for movie night. Thor was back from Asgard, sprawled out on the floor and leaning against the couch where Natasha was curled. She left just enough room for Bruce to enfold himself in the corner as he handed her a bottle of beer.

Clint was passing out bowls of popcorn, settling himself on the second couch and placing his bowl within Natasha's reach. Steve reclined at the other end of Clint, smiling when Tony threw himself into the armchair at his left. The soldier quietly passed him a bowl of popcorn as he tried to get comfortable.

Tony frowned, finally standing and turning around to stare at the offending recliner. Running his hands across the seat, he paused, eyes narrowing. The team watched with curiosity, the movie's main menu muted, as he pulled the cushion from the seat and unzipped the case. Reaching in, he extracted a long, wicked blade.

Silence fell over the group as he turned to Natasha, his eyebrow arched nearly to his hairline. She met his gaze innocently. The two remained in a stalemate for a very long minute, before Tony rolled his eyes and replaced the knife, taking his seat again.

**_Positive_**

"Why do you always do that?"

Steve, startled, turned at Clint's vehement outburst. "Do what, exactly?" he asked quietly, and with great caution.

Clint bit back a snarl, the rigors of the mission finally having gotten to him. "Say that things can be worse," he managed to say. "We spent three months tracking a child trafficker who got an easy death, lost more kids to the trafficking system in those three months than I care to count, and we are now stranded in Eastern Europe until that damned substitute handler can get her act together and send us an extraction team. How can things be worse?"

Steve settled himself more comfortable against the wall behind him. He waited a beat before he spoke, a furrow between his brows as he gathered his thoughts. "I grew up in the Depression, lived and fought and lost friends to the Great War, fell asleep after I flew a plane full of bombs into the ground and woke up seventy years later after I was encased in ice and preserved, just in time to collect the most ragtag group of heroes imaginable and fight an army from outer space."

Clint stared with unbelief as Steve smiled wryly at him. "Things can always be worse than this."

**_Work_**

_"How long as he been down there this time?"_

_Bruce let out a small sigh, turning the page in his paper with a furrowed brow. "I think we're at five days, now."_

_Steve frowned. "Is that healthy?"_

_"Pepper takes him food," the scientist replied thoughtfully. "He sleeps when his body forces him to and he mainlines caffeine." At Steve's blank look, he explained, "He drinks a lot of coffee."_

_"What is he doing, anyway?"_

_Bruce snorted. "Who knows?"_

"Mute."

Tony rubbed his eyes, leaning back in his chair with a groan. The battle had been particularly difficult, worse than most, and Clint had been injured enough that Natasha had show visible signs of worry. She had yet to leave his side at the hospital and the rest of the team had finally been forcibly removed from the premises. Tony had locked himself in his lab and hadn't come up for air since.

Predictably, Steve knocked on the lab door within the hour and Tony waved him in, too exhausted to tease the soldier about his unfailingly good manners. Steve walked up with a tray of thick soup and a glass of milk that looked so inviting Tony finally realized just how hungry he was. As he dug into the meal, Steve's gaze caught on the reinforced armor lying on the table, new prototypes of arrows and tips scattered haphazardly around.

Tony fidgeted, feeling the slightest bit uncomfortable with the knowing glint in Steve's kind eyes. "Shut up, Rogers," he muttered, shoving another spoonful of soup into his mouth. "I've been working."

**_Shelter_**

The team stared in dismay at the smoking ruins of the Quinjet, too distraught to flinch when a piece of the left wing fan fell to the ground with a crash. Clint groaned, allowing his legs to collapse into a low crouch. "Fuck me."

Tony chuckled, the sound breathless and the slightest bit wheezy. He leaned heavily on Steve, holding a hand to his ribcage, his armor crushed in places. "That's Tash's job," he joked, winking at the bloodied pair.

Steve rolled his eyes, adjusting Tony's weight on his shoulder. "Well," he squinted at the darkening sky. "We're going to need a shelter for the night. I don't think Fury will be able to get an extraction team together before the sun sets."

"Relax, Spangles," Tony rasped. "We're in Belize. I know a place."

Bruce rubbed his eyes tiredly, holding his pants at his waist with one hand. "How many houses do you have, exactly?"

"I didn't say it was mine," Tony pointed out, sounded slightly petulant. "One or two of them are in Pepper's name." He turned to Steve. "She wanted the next name on the lease to be hers."

"That's swell," Steve murmured absently, his mind cycling through their available transportation methods. "Where is Pepper's house?"

Tony gestured vaguely in a northeasterly direction, and Steve nodded at Thor. The Asgardian nodded in response, twirling his hammer and lifting off.

He wasn't gone long and said nothing when he returned, merely holding out his arm for Bruce to grab on to. Bruce stepped forward, and Steve exclaimed noiselessly. "Are you sure you have the right place?"

Thor's eyes twinkled laughingly. "I am certain, Captain."

One by one, he flew the team a few miles to the clearing and deposited them in front of the massive mansion on the island just east of Belize City. When he and Steve finally arrived, Tony was leaning against the door, waiting for someone to rip his armor off. Bruce had sunk to the steps, dozing lightly as his head rested on his fisted hand. Natasha was looking unimpressed at the sheer size of the house and Clint was staring at it with open admiration.

Without averting his gaze, he leaned towards Natasha. "Best. Safehouse. Ever."

**_Fever_**

"I can't believe I'm sick," Tony groaned, rolling over and burying his head into the pillow. "How did I get sick?"

Clint snorted, leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed. "Shit happens when you fuck half of California, buddy."

Tony turned to glare at Clint, who stared back unrepentantly, only moving when Steve brought in a tray of soup and crackers. "Clint, try to behave," Steve admonished. "Tony, just get some rest. Bruce sent up some journals for you to read and Thor keeps telling me about Asgardian remedies." He shot Tony an amused look. "Since most of them involve consuming strange mixtures of herbs and tinctures, I figured we'd stick to chicken soup and water."

"You're a saint," Tony croaked, reaching desperately for the glass of water on the tray. Clint snorted again, dragging Natasha into the room despite her protests. "A true saint."

"You won't be saying that when your fever down," Steve murmured as Clint and Natasha pulled up chairs. "But thanks anyway."

**_Winter_**

Steve liked the winter season.

He always had, from the way his breath became visible when he stepped outside to curling up beside the stove with a good book and cup of hot chocolate to being the first to mar a fresh blanket of snow with his bootprint.

The team had worried about him, his first winter since The Thaw, and it was warming to know that they cared that much, each in their own way.

Tony simply cranked the heat up to a balmy seventy-eight degrees, ordering JARVIS to reset the thermostat, no matter how many times Steve tried to turn it down. Bruce often tried to chatter to him, an obvious ploy to distract him from thinking about his time in the ice, and Thor would offer to train with him for much the same reason. Clint and Natasha never said a word, but he usually woke up to an extra blanket or two stashed in his room. It was endearing, their concern, but Steve was fine with winter.

Until their first fight. Even then, it was less about the season that was dropping snow on them and more about the alarmingly familiar situation he found himself in.

It had been a lucky shot that had him on his back and his shield skittering away. The robot had lifted its arm to finish him off when Natasha had slid in front of him, his shield held defensively in front to protect them both. The first shot pushed her back a few inches, but she gritted her teeth and held her ground as best she could. Better than Bucky had.

Steve choked and, as the robot was rearming itself, he wrenched the shield from her grasp, ignoring her furious shout, and destroyed the machine. Turning his back on her and the implications, he finished the fight tense and struggling with his own thoughts and memories.

He could see Natasha out of his periphery as she tried to corner him, all anger and snarls, but Tony stepped between them, quietly speaking to her. Steve could have heard the words if he had wanted to, but his brain was spinning and his world was shaking (although that may have been because Hulk was joining them) and his eyes unfocused as he stared at a small patch of snow on the ground.

Natasha was not Bucky and Natasha was not dead, he repeated to himself as Clint placed a warm hand on his shoulder. Carefully, Steve picked up one foot and placed it firmly on the snow, grounding himself to the present.

He still liked winter.

**_Alone_**

"Director Fury," Pepper smiled slightly. "How nice to see you. What's the occasion?"

"Miss Potts." Fury inclined his head. "I had something that I wanted to talk to you about."

Pepper tucked a length of hair behind her ear, settling herself in the chair across from Fury's desk. "Which is?"

Fury sighed slightly, leaning forward and lacing his fingers together. "I'm assigning a new handler to the Avengers and I'd like this one to last longer than one afternoon, so I'm asking for your assistance in choosing one that might be able to survive Mister Stark."

"Well, I'm sorry, but I won't be able to help you." Pepper leaned down to collect her purse.

Fury reached out a hand. "Whoa, whoa, whoa. Why not?"

"Because," she sighed. "Tony works alone."

"That's not true," Fury pointed out, leaning back in his chair. "He even listens sometimes."

Pepper laughed lightly. "To whom?"

Fury blinked at her. "To you. And Captain Rogers."

"Tony listens to me because I give him no other choice," she informed Fury. "And he listens to Steve because Steve will explain why they have to do things." Pepper smiled fondly. "Phil used to do the same thing. If you find a handler that can do that as well as either one of them, you have your guy."


	10. Chapter 10

**_Mate_**

"Why do you not inject the other humans with the serum that has so enhanced the Captain?" Thor asked Bruce, looking with some concern as Clint picked at the bandaging on his forearm. "Captain Rogers is a stout warrior and not easily injured. Would this not be a good plan of prevention?"

Bruce followed Thor's gaze to the corner, where Clint was sitting on a cot and drugged to the gills with narcotics. "It doesn't work that way, Thor," he explained gently. "The recipe for the serum was lost, and the only solution we could figure out made me."

Thor frowned. "How were you able to find that solution, then, if the original was lost?"

Bruce launched into a simplified discussion of the serum and DNA replication that the demi-god seemed to follow without trouble. "And each base has a mate," Clint snickered. "That matches it perfectly."

Thor nodded. "So these mated pairs," another giggle from the cot, followed by a muffled apology, "form a helix and contain the information from the serum?"

Bruce nodded. "And we don't really know what comes from the serum and what comes from Steve. The mates are -,"

Thor never found out what the mates were, because Bruce finally huffed in exasperation and turned to Clint, chuckling in the corner. "What is so funny, Barton?"

"'M sorry, Doc," Clint sniggered helplessly. "But you said mate, and that's just a science-y word for sex! So all I can think about is DNA having sex all over your body." He gestured loosely to Bruce. "All up in there."

Natasha finally walked into the lab as Clint dissolved into another fit of giggles. Taking in the scene on the cot and the blank look on Bruce's face, she smirked. "Is he making sex jokes again?"

Thor nodded, watching the archer with confusion and no small display of alarm. Bruce tore his eyes away. "He does this often?"

Natasha shrugged. "Only when he's on narcotics. Then he finds everything hilarious." She grinned. "If you really want a show, you should see him on opiates."

**_Animal_**

_"We approve of your decision to remain in one area,_" the lead councilman announced, ignoring the four distinct beeps that Tony's cellphone emitted.

The lone female councilman added, "_With the exception of the animal, of course._"

There was a pause, wherein Bruce simply bowed his head in quiet agreement and Fury rolled his eyes in exasperation at the continuing argument. Tony leapt to his feet, a string of insults and abuse emerging from his mouth. Thor clapped a supportive hand on Bruce's shoulder as Clint leaned back in his chair, propping his feet on the table with a sense of boredom.

Steve stood, physically interjecting himself between Tony and the screens showing the Council members. "Tony, calm down," he murmured, placing a firm hand on Tony's chest. Turning to the Council, he glared at them with hard eyes. "Hulk is not an animal. He is intelligent, capable of learning, in possession of _feelings_, other than anger."

One of the Councilmen snorted. "_Does he obey your orders?_"

Steve rolled his eyes in exasperation. "Do any of them?"

"Hey!" Clint raised his hands for attention. "We do when we need to."

"For fuck's sake," Natasha interrupted the growing, off-topic argument. "He gave us all names."

The room stilled. Fury raised a brow at Steve. "Captain?"

"She's right," the soldier told them. "He knows Tony as Stark, because that's what we all call him during battle. He _knows _that Tony and Bruce are friends. Natasha is Girl, for obvious reasons, and Thor is just You."

"_The letter?_"

"The pronoun, dumbass," Tony snarled. Steve gave him a quelling glare.

"They don't have the most violence-free relationship," Steve murmured, off-hand.

"He is a worthy opponent," Thor put in resolutely.

"Barton?" Steve glanced back at Fury.

"Clint is Pal." At Fury's silence, Steve elaborated. "Clint needed a lift to the top of a building and Tony was busy, so he asked Hulk."

"When I got up there," Clint finished. "I said, 'Thanks pal. You can go smash now." So he calls me Pal."

"_And you, Captain Rogers?_"

Steve smirked. "Tony sarcastically calls me _sir _when I use what has been dubbed my 'Captain Voice' and Hulk, taking his cues from Stark, calls me Sir too."

There was silence in the room. "Bottom line," Steve said, turning to the Council and crossing his arms. "You're wrong about Hulk. He's part of our team, and that means you have to go through us to get him."

"Not your best plan," Tony announced, holding up his phone and gleefully pressing a button. "Considering I have now hacked all of your personal records, your military records, your financial records, et cetera and I, bitch and gentlefucks, am one vindictive bastard."

With another flourish, he cut the connection and grinned at Bruce. "Anyone else starving?"

**_Ignorant_**

"Captain, a word?" Steve sighed, trying not to roll his eyes at the director. Waving the team on, he turned back. Fury gestured helplessly at the now empty conference room. "What the hell was that, back there?"

Tired, hungry, and exceedingly fed up with bureaucracy in general, Steve found his patience worn thin. "What was what, Director?"

Fury looked slightly taken aback and more than a little irritated. "That stunt, that's what."

"It wasn't a stunt," Steve replied firmly. "You gave me a group of loners and told me to make them a team. I have done that. Don't get pissed because I did."

Turning smartly on his heel, he walked away and did not look back. Fury was still for a few minutes, a small smile pulling at the corners of his lips. "Oh Phil," he murmured. "You should see them now."

**_Cold_**

"What the hell is going on?" Natasha glanced up from her book, one brow raised in question. Tony was standing in the middle of the lounge, frowning up at the ceiling. "This is the second time in an hour that's it's been too hot to function."

"Oh," she said, turning back to her novel. When Tony's eyes began to bore holes in the side of her face, she sighed. "It's the nightly thermostat war," she explained. "You usually miss it because you're in the lab."

Tony crossed his arms, narrowing his eyes at her. "What thermostat war?"

"Thor is the last one to bed, usually, and because he is hot natured, he turns the thermostat down before he goes to sleep. Bruce and Hulk don't like being cold, so when their room gets chilly, Bruce will go turn the temperature up. Clint needs to sleep under piles of blankets, and Bruce's change makes him sweat, so he cranks it down. When it gets cold again, that reminds Steve of the Arctic and he gets up to change it again, which starts the cycle all over."

Tony frowned. "Don't they ever talk about this with each other?"

Natasha snorted. "Really?"

"Fair point," Tony muttered rolling his eyes. Fixing his gaze upstairs again, he stood for a few moments. "Give me a couple of days."

It took him six days and more wiring than he'd anticipated, but every room had an individual thermostat and vent system by the end of the week. No one said thank you to his face, but if there was a new copy of _Scientific America_, or set of wrenches, or extra bottle of scotch, or his four-one-fives were mysteriously completed, he knew who had done it, and that was enough.

**_Disappear_**

It took time.

It took a lot of time, in truth. It ended up taking less time than Steve had thought it would, in his darker moments. Black moods when he and Tony butted heads, Clint retreated into himself, Thor stared longingly at the stars, Natasha hid her thoughts behind a mask, and Bruce secretly searched for airplane tickets to far away destinations like Togo and the Niger. But eventually, finally, the walls were down. The barriers were dropped, the prejudices gone like water under the proverbial bridge, and the six of them stood together.

One unit.

A team.

The Avengers.

_Fin._


End file.
